This Way Comes
by lunarmotet
Summary: AU. The Gale Force just wants a place to rest and guard their prisoner until the Wizard arrives. Morgan, stuck at work in the flower shop, just wants to go home. When they collide, Morgan will find herself in the middle of a war, and she will have to make the choice between saving herself and ending the reign of terror that has bled into her world.
1. Chapter 1: Tuesday, End of Shift

Hello all, welcome to my newest AU! I have always loved the "unexpected visitor in a shop" types of AU's, so I finally decided to write one myself. The first chapter is a lot of characterization and setting the scene, but then it goes wild after that. I hope you enjoy!

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Chapter 1: Tuesday, End of shift

Morgan had exactly one hour and forty-seven minutes left in her shift.

Morgan's coworkers were scurrying about, gathering their things, eager to clock out and start their weekend.

"Have a good night!" Cassie was gone before Morgan could even reply, closing her mouth and swallowing the pleasantries as the blonde ponytail swished out the door. Jesse had at least stopped by, giving her a small hug before heading out.

"Don't work too hard, now."

"Pfft, you don't have to worry about that."

"Listen, we all know that you are the hardest worker in the bunch. You don't have to be so humble about it." Jesse's voice was dripping in sarcasm.

"I'm so very sorry, but I just can't help it. I just feel so badly that I outshine everyone, so I have to dim myself down a bit. I can't show everyone up all of the time. It'll make them jealous."

The two stared at each other for a moment before they both burst out laughing.

"Don't worry, no one is jealous of you right now," said Jesse. "We get to go home and you don't."

"Don't rub it in, asshole, or you'll come in tomorrow morning and find that all of your tools have mysteriously vanished."

"You do that and you're dead."

"You can't kill me if I hide your shit and you don't have anything to kill me with."

The two laughed again. Jesse, blonde, grey-eyed, his face only betraying his forty years of age when he smiled, shook his head at the younger girl.

"Hey, I have to stop and grab a few groceries, so I'll be close. Call me if it gets too crazy."

Morgan raised an eyebrow. "Like you would actually show up if I called you."

Jesse grinned sheepishly. "Look, it's the thought that counts, right?"

"If you say so. Have fun maneuvering your cart around all of the old people. I'll see you Monday."

Jesse grabbed his coat and gave Morgan a small wave before ducking out. The door clanged shut again, the shop finally falling into blessed silence.

Morgan was the youngest worker in the flower shop, which meant that she was at the bottom of the totem pole and ended up with the shifts that nobody else wanted. She was officially the night girl, the one who showed up in the afternoon after several cups of coffee and held down the fort until closing (and usually making another pot of coffee for herself once everyone left). The shop had been slow all day, the hours ticking by at a snail's pace due to the lack of work and things to do. Cassie had taken to dusting the menagerie of statues in the front room, and Jesse would wait until the head designer was occupied to sneak upstairs and make a bunch of calls on his cell phone. Morgan, bored almost to tears, had spent the day sneaking glances at her Kindle.

However, Morgan did love the silence. Her coworkers all worked in the back room of the shop together, eight different voices talking with and over one another. The four drivers flittered in and out every few hours, grabbing arrangements and maneuvering them around the workers and above their heads. The phone usually rang frequently, sometimes off the hook, the piercing rattle breaking through the cacophony. The small room filled with sound fast, and Morgan, naturally an introvert, often felt overwhelmed. The two hours before the shop closed were her time, where she didn't have to pretend she wasn't at the frontlines of the latest drama of her coworkers.

Morgan worked on her usual nighttime duties. She inputted and filed all of the invoices. She ran the vacuum through the area of the shop that serviced the customers. She doubled checked the potted plants to make sure they didn't need watered. She had now started her final tasks, which included sweeping the floors and making sure everything was in its proper place. Morgan grabbed the broom, surveying the shop.

A large table sat in the center of the room, the main worktable for four of the employees. The shop had been open for forty years, the table seeming to have been there from the beginning, chunks of paint missing from all sides, stained with god knows what, the wood broken off on the corners. Another table, just as old and beat up, was attached to the wall at the far side of the room, a work bench for the shop's two lead designers. The lead designer's table extended to a metal door, one that led into the back cooler where the majority of the flowers were kept. Two more tables lined the back wall, where the newer designers worked. A shelving unit, originally white and coated with red paint, now peeling, soared up to the ceiling in the corner, storing everything from ribbon to wires to different styles of scissors. It might have been organized at one point in time, but Morgan found out that attempting to keep anything in the place organized for more than a day was a lost cause.

Across the room sat a bench, a wood panel connecting the two legs showing that it used to be a desk, used for working with very wet or messy things. The flower buckets sat underneath it, stored and out of the way. A double-sided sink hung off the wall about two steps away, a hose attached that reached almost ten feet long. The secretary's desk, the one Natalie tended to use, sat near the sink, facing the back wall, the doorway to the main part of the shop separating her from the newer designers. The workroom was small, too small for amount of tables and people that occupied it. It was a close place where you were always dodging someone, working around someone, trying not to bump someone. Morgan was happy when she was put on phone duty, because the secretary's desk was the farthest away from everyone else.

Due to the mind numbing dullness of the day, Morgan had tended to her normal nightly duties at a much earlier hour. She was barely fifteen minutes into her alone time and the floor was still clean from the last time she swept about an hour ago. Morgan groaned.

 _Great_ , she thought. _I have almost nothing left to do. These last few hours are going to be even slower than the past six._

Sometimes, particularly on Fridays and Saturdays, Morgan's end shift would be busy, full of people, mostly men, walking in to grab flowers for a romantic evening. She would be flying around, bursting in and out of the cooler, pulling together multiple arrangements at the same time, attempting to do the jobs of three people by herself (although, Morgan would never call Jesse in. That would be admitting defeat.) However, today was Tuesday, and usually, during the week, most people went home after work to have dinner and spend time with their families.

 _Except for me, of course,_ Morgan would often think to herself. _Someone has to work the night shift._ _Who cares about my plans, right? I mean, it's not like I have any family or friends to spend time with, but it's the principal of the thing._

This Tuesday was no exception; the doorbell was silent.

Morgan plopped herself in the wooden chair that sat in front of the main store computer, grabbing her purse from underneath the desk. She unzipped it, reached inside, and pulled out her Kindle. She got yelled at for reading today, but now she'd get away with it. The door had a bell, and the phone's ring was loud enough to wake the dead. If anyone needed her, she'd know.

Morgan tapped the screen, returning to the last place she left off. She had read the _Return of the King_ more times than she could count, but she never grew tired of it. She had owned the paperback version since childhood, but eventually, the spine broke and all of the pages had fallen out. Morgan ended up throwing them in the fire at camp, sending her favorite book off in a glorious, Viking-esque funeral display. It was the first thing she bought when she got her Kindle for Christmas. Morgan settled in, leaning back in the chair, her feet on the cushion and her knees leaning against the table. She settled down with the device, and, after finding the spot she left off at, began to read.

Morgan had one hour and thirty-seven minutes left in her shift when the phone rang. She had been so engrossed in the story that she nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound. She rested it on the table and picked up the phone. She spent the next few minutes attempting to help the nearly-deaf elderly woman on the phone try to navigate the store's website, only for her to say she'll call back tomorrow and hang up without saying goodbye. Morgan barely had the phone out of her hands before it rang again, a different customer wondering if they still had the angel statue she was looking at earlier in the day.

Morgan put the woman on hold, walking into the front room. The actual shop, the shop the customers saw, was split into two rooms. The first room is what they saw when they stepped through the front door. It was brightly lit and colorful, decorated in shades of pink, yellow, and green for spring. After a sea of red for Christmas and Valentine's Day, the employees, sick to death of crimson, had overhauled the place and turned it blindingly pastel. Morgan cared for pastels even less than red, but again, as the "shop baby" as she was called, she had little say in the matter. The room held a few statues, some cute knickknacks and little trinkets, and a massive front cooler, where the arrangements were stored once completed. Morgan poked around, trying to figure out where her coworkers moved everything when they redecorated. She turned to the left, walking around the corner to the side room.

The side room connected to both the front and the workrooms through a doorway cut out from the wall. The side room was full of natural light, one wall and part of the other consisting entirely of windows. This room held all of the silk flower arrangements and examples of arrangements that could be done for weddings and funerals. There was a large wooden desk with three matching chairs and a computer that probably as old as Morgan and liked to freeze when you were attempting to process an order. It especially liked to freeze for the most impatient customers. Morgan looked around for a moment, finding the angels on the shelf that used to hold Valentine's day- themed stuffed bears, but couldn't find the one the lady wanted.

 _Shit. We must have sold it._

She stepped up through doorway, entering the workroom again, and picked the phone, taking the woman off of hold. Morgan, occupied, didn't notice that the sun was starting to go down, bathing the shop in orange light.

When she left the room in the first place, hunting down the statue, she also didn't notice the face of the young man, dressed in an emerald green uniform, peering through the workroom window.

Morgan didn't know it at the moment, but her world was about to get thrown upside down.


	2. Chapter 2: Unexpected Guests

Chapter 2: Unexpected Guests

Morgan had one hour and twenty-nine minutes left in her shift.

Morgan hung up the phone; well, to be more specific, she slammed the phone down so hard that it missed the receiver twice. She grumbled, rubbing her temples with her hands.

 _Lady, there was literally no reason to yell at me. You could have bought it when you were here, but you decided not to. You didn't tell us to hold it for you, so we sold it. That's your fault, not mine. You go ahead and leave us a shitty Yelp review. Be my guest._

Morgan gazed across the room, her finger tapping on her chin. She swore she saw that damned angel upstairs the last time she did inventory. Another one of Morgan's odd jobs was inventory, also known as roaming about, counting things, organizing them, and then doing it all over again the next week because someone (aka her coworkers) liked to move things around and not put them back.

She pushed the chair out from the desk and stood up. If she found it, She wasn't going to call that lady back and tell her that she had it. She was going to take that overpriced piece of stone out of its box put it back out on display. The woman who called thought she was friends with the shop's owner and came in all the time. She'd be back. Morgan would display it out of spite.

Despite the falsely cheerful and patient tone she used on the phone, Morgan hated customer service with a fiery passion. She had just graduated college, and needed a way to make some money before she found herself a better paying job. She had been hunting for a job for some time, but turns out, finding a good job with a salary, benefits, and paid time off was about as easy as winning the lottery. She ended up at the flower shop because she saw the Help Wanted sign on their door when she drove by one day. Her loan payments had kicked in that week, along with her rent being due, and desperate times called for desperate measures. She chose working for single digit dollars an hour, getting bossed around by her coworkers and yelled at by customers than continuing to live at home with her suffocating, overbearing parents. They called constantly, nagging her about money and payments and applying for new things. She gushed about her job to them, convincing them that she loved it and was learning a lot and was very happy. The truth is that she despised everything about the place and was the opposite of happy, but she was way too stubborn to let her parents know that.

Morgan walked around the desk, past the tables in the center of the room. She rounded the corner by the cooler door, her feet touching the bottom step on the staircase. Everything they couldn't fit downstairs was put upstairs, meaning the upstairs was a mess of the silk flowers, holiday storage, all of the miscellaneous gifts and things that they sold, and unmarked boxes full of unidentified objects that were covered in dust and smelled like an attic. Morgan paused for a moment, making sure she didn't hear anyone calling or coming in. Her coworkers liked to joke about the Stairs Curse; every time you went up the stairs, the phone would ring, a customer would come in, or something ridiculous would happen and you would have to run back down them. Morgan ascended slowly, hoping the Stairs Curse wouldn't hit her this time. She walked up the thirteen stairs (she knew this because she had tried to keep count how many she did during Valentine's Day, but lost track after she reached a few hundred) and opened the door, which had the tendency to creak loudly. She flicked the light on and left the door ajar behind her.

Morgan first turned left, walking past the gift inventory and into the bathroom. She looked in the mirror, noticing that her newly-dyed black hair was coming undone from its braid. She quickly fixed it, making sure that the teal pieces, added in a rare moment of spontaneity, could be seen. She rubbed her eyes, their redness making her green irises stand out more than usual.

 _Of course, I found find out that I have a pollen allergy three weeks after getting this job,_ she thought to herself, annoyed, blowing her nose on a piece of toilet paper. _This is totally unfair._

Morgan tossed the soiled paper into the garbage can. She turned on the sink and washed her hands thoroughly with soap that smelled like a mix of roses and plastic. She turned off the water and grunted, annoyed, noticing there was no towel. She wiped her hands off on her shirt, a pale green that made her skin look ghostly, embroidered with Rush Creek Florals in magenta thread.

 _I hate this stupid shirt_ , she thought, already irritated and deciding to be irritated about everything else. _I hate this stupid job and these stupid people and these stupid customers and this stupid everything, but especially this stupid shirt. Seriously, who thought pink went well with green?_

She clicked off the light, the nightlight casting a blue glow over the sink. She returned to the storage room, roaming up and down the shelving units, searching for the ridiculously large stone angel with emerald green wings. She had spotted it on the top shelf and was reaching up for it when she heard the doorbell ring.

Ding.

Morgan had jumped slightly at the sound, smacking her elbow off of the shelf. She let out a small hiss of pain, her right hand rubbing the sore spot.

 _Shit. Stairs curse strikes again._

"I'll be with you in a minute!" she called down the steps, hoping the customer had heard her. She stood up on her tiptoes, her fingers just grazing the box the angel came in. She reached higher, tugging on the box with her fingertips, nudging it until it came tumbling down into her arms. She muttered a little "Yes!" at her good catch.

Morgan sat the angel down, ready to head down the stairs, when she heard the door go off again.

Ding

Ding

"Okay, okay, Jesus Christ, I'm coming."

Ding

Ding

Morgan went silent. Something was off.

Ding.

Ding.

Ding.

Ding.

Ding.

Ding.

Morgan paused, counting. Eleven. The door had gone off eleven times.

 _How strange,_ she thought _. Eleven people? What in the world could eleven people be doing here, and at this hour?_

A giant gust of wind rustled through the old building, causing Morgan to startle. She heard a skidding sound coming from outside, and then a few thumps.

 _What in the world was that?_

Morgan turned, temporarily forgetting the probably crowd of people downstairs, walked quickly through the inventory room into the hallway, coming up to a door that led to the deck. She opened the door, stepping out onto the deck. The deck wasn't used much, only to store things that didn't fit upstairs and weren't valuable enough to need protection from the elements. Morgan walked onto the porch, surveying, looking for the source of the sound. She stopped, head tilted, listening. She heard nothing; she turned her head, her eyes now cast upward to the sky. The sun was going down; the sunset had taken over the sky, overriding the blue with large streaks of orange, pink, and purple. Morgan smiled slightly, taking in the sight that almost looked like it had been painted there. She pulled her phone from her pocket and took a few steps forward, her feet grazing the staircase that lead down to the road, steadying to take a photo. When she saw them, she almost dropped her phone down the steps.

There were men outside the shop, standing in two precise, straight lines. They wore a type of military uniform, although it wasn't from any branch Morgan recognized. Their jackets and pants were a bright saturated green, detailed in metallic gold that shown under the fading sunlight. Two symbols, almost looking like a Z and a zero, were embroidered in the center of their backs. Morgan felt her heart begin to race when she noticed that each one of them was carrying a rifle, brown and old fashioned looking, that was long enough to almost touch the ground. The shop sat off of a busy street that was usually bustling, but now it was silent and empty. It was as if everyone else in town had vanished, nobody else there to witness these odd soldiers standing outside the door that led into the workroom.

A man, tall, red haired, with a square jaw, stood in front of the lines of men. He wore the same green jacket, gold patches creating a V-shape in the front, four gold chords extending from the center of his jacket and draping over his shoulder. The tall man saluted; the men, in one sharp, instantaneous motion, saluted back. Morgan leaned in, listening to what as being said.

"Soldiers, the shelter has been searched and deemed safe. We will bunk here until further orders. Batallion A is taking first watch and first guard in the shelter. We will accompany the Wizard, find our location and map our next route. We will return in two hours for shift rotation. Be on the look out. This is not our world, and things may not be as they appear to be. Stay vigilant, soldiers! On ward!"

"SIR YES SIR!"

The men spun on their heels, turning an about face. The marched the entire block behind the shop, heading up a hill. The taller man, probably someone of rank, followed behind. Morgan ducked back behind the mountain of boxes, watching until the men marched out of sight. Heart racing, breathing quick, knees shaking, Morgan bolted back into the storage room, slamming the door behind her.

 _What the hell was that? Who the hell was that?_

Fear had taken over her, her mind flooded with questions.

 _What was with those uniforms? Who are they supposed to be? Are they ROTC? Some other group I don't know of? Why are they in the middle of the street? And they're coming back in two hours? What in the—_

Morgan was cut off from her own thoughts by the noise coming from the downstairs.

 _Oh shit._

She just remembered that the doorbell had rung eleven consecutive times. She was confused by that, and confused by the soldiers. Something really strange was happening, and she couldn't put her finger on it.

Then the realization hit her like a thunderbolt.

 _Oh my god, Battalion A. They're in the store. There are soldiers in the store. And holy shit they have GUNS. They're in the store and they have guns and I'm alone… Oh hell no, I'm out of here!_

Morgan darted towards the door to the deck, ready to make her escape. She only got a few feet before a male face passed by the window. She skidded to a stop, feet frozen in place. Another face passed by, two deep voices heard murmuring unintelligibly. There were now two soldiers were on the porch.

Two on the porch. Eleven downstairs. There was no other way out of the shop.

Morgan backed up, leaning against the wall, her heart feeling like it was going to break her rib cage and beat out of her chest.

 _I'm trapped._


	3. Chapter 3: The Prisoner

Chapter 3: The Prisoner

Morgan had a little less than an hour and a half left in her shift, but she wasn't sure.

In fact, she wasn't sure about anything other than she was panicking.

 _Shit shit shit shit shit. What do I do? What do I do? How do I get out of here? Shit shit shit_

There were only two ways out of the room she was sitting in. She could either go out through the porch, where the two soldiers were standing, or go downstairs and face whatever else was waiting for her. Neither option was ideal. She was just a girl, an average girl who liked Netflix and Chinese take-out way too much to have any athletic prowess. She couldn't outrun them, and she couldn't fight them. She didn't know who they were or why they were there or what would happen if they found her.

She decided that hiding was her best option.

Morgan slunk across the wall, finding one of the workbenches. She slid down and sat, shoving the chair away from the bench. She scooted across the ground and wedged herself underneath the bench, her head down and her legs tucked up to her chest. She wrapped her arms around her knees, feeling them tap together with nervous tremors. She figured she could stay there for as long as she needed to and nobody would even notice her. She hoped that they wouldn't stay long, maybe just rest or rob the place, and then go. They could do or take whatever they wanted, just as long as they left as soon as possible and didn't bother coming up the stairs.

Morgan extended one of her feet, feeling her shoe hit something metal. She reached her hand down, recoiling at the feeling of something sharp. She reached down again, this time more gingerly, and found her hands wrapped around a pair of clippers. Her own clippers were downstairs, probably still sitting on the table, used for trimming stems and dead leaves. This pair must not have been used much, for it was relatively clean and still very sharp. Morgan counted herself lucky, for if she had put her hand down an inch to the left, there would probably be blood. She held the clippers tightly to her chest.

 _Well, I guess if I have to fight someone, I'm armed._

Sound came flying up from the first floor. Morgan immediately froze, forcing every muscle in her body to remain still. She took slow breaths, trying to be quiet. Her head leaned on the wall that held the stairs, and she was able to hear some things from downstairs. She heard a flurry of boot steps, muffled talking, and a few other noises. She couldn't count the people, but she knew there were a lot of them and all of the voices were male. The sounds continued for a while, combining together, noisy and difficult to decipher. Then suddenly, the boots stopped. She could hear one of the chairs being moved, its legs scraping across the hard floor, landing on its desired spot with a loud thud. The boot steps began again, only this time fewer of them moved. They went quieter, as if they left the room, those who remained in the room dropped their voices, whispering amongst themselves. The footsteps returned, accompanied by a scraping sound, as if something was being dragged across the floor. There was another thud and another flurry of movement, the chair legs digging in and scratching across the floor with an ear-piercing shriek. The murmuring rose for a few moments before dropping off, going quiet. Despite the amount of people downstairs, it was perfectly still. Morgan could swear she could hear her own heart beat.

"Well, well, we finally have you."

A male voice, dark, deep, and full of venom, rang out in the silent shop. Morgan straightened her legs, her feet extending out into the light. She slid sideways, trying to get closer to the entrance of the stairs. Her curiosity was overriding her fright, the need to know more important than self-protection.

There was some laughter after his statement. Morgan shuddered, realizing what was going on.

 _They have a prisoner_. Morgan gulped, the fear rising. _There is an army with a prisoner in my flower shop. What the actual hell…_

"You thought you could get away from us. We chased you all over Oz, and yet somehow we kept losing you. We got so tired of finding you and you evading us, or us capturing you and you escaping. But now—" His voice brimmed with satisfaction, "— we are in a different world entirely. You can't get away from us this time."

It took Morgan a moment to realize what he had said.

 _Oz? Did he really just say Oz? Like the Wizard of Oz? Really?_

She pondered for a moment, remembering the pattern that was embroidered on the back of the soldier's uniforms. Morgan had assumed it was a zero, but now that she really thought about, she could see the O and the Z.

 _That's insane. Oz isn't real. Unless there is some city named Oz that I don't know about. Yeah, that's it, there has to be a city or a town or something named Oz, although I don't know of one in this state…_

"So I get nothing then?" the voice continued. "No harsh words, no sarcastic remarks, nothing? Pity, I was growing fond of your sharp tongue."

Morgan heard another laugh, one that caused her to stop her racing thoughts and really focus. This laugh was different, higher, cutting through the air like a knife. This one was—

Morgan swallowed hard.

\- female.

"I was just waiting patiently." The female voice was sharp and rough, speaking with fire and defiance. Morgan couldn't see her, but could almost feel the glare the soldier was getting from her.

"It's not my fault that you wouldn't shut up long enough for me to get a word in."

Morgan jumped, ramming into the wall at the sudden percussive sound that halted the conversation. The silence returned only for a brief second before the female voice began to laugh again.

"Really Captain, didn't you ever learn that it's not polite to strike a lady?"

 _Oh Christ in heaven, he just hit her. They have a prisoner and it's a girl and they're hitting her and oh my god…_

"That rule only applies if the one I'm striking happens to be a lady."

"And I supposed that rules only applies to gentlemen, which you are most certainly not."

There was another noise, another sound of the prisoner being hit. Morgan curled back up on herself again, feeling sick to her stomach. She was hiding under a table, unable to leave, unable to do anything but try to calm the trembling that seemed to have taken over her body.

 _Oh my god Oh my god Oh my god_

Morgan heard a deep sound, almost like a growl.

"Fine then, if you can't be respectful, then I guess I'll have to teach you."

A hit, this time less sharp, deeper in tone, cut the silence. It lacked the reverberation of a slap; Morgan guessed it was made by a fist. The other guards were laughing now, the raucous noise echoing up the stairs and through the second floor. Another hit, this time followed by a cracking sound and coughing. More laughter. Another hit, then another, and another. More uproarious laughter, now with unintelligible jeers, more coughing, the sound of something wet hitting the floor. The sounds continued on rotation, repeating over and over like a broken record. The beating seemed like it went on for hours. Morgan felt the bile rise and settle in her throat, biting her lip in an effort to keep the urge to vomit down. She was shaking very badly, tremors riding up and down her muscles, her body refusing to sit still and stay quiet. Her stomach tied itself up in knots, her nerves on full alert, shooting fear throughout her limbs and through her brain.

 _I'm trapped_ , she thought helplessly. _I'm trapped. I can't get out. They're downstairs. They have a prisoner and they're beating her and they're laughing and there are so many of them…and oh no, what will I do if they find me? What will_ they _do if they find me?_

Morgan rested her head on her knees, noticing that her eyes were stinging with the tears. She felt paralyzed, like the fear had nailed her to the spot.

 _What do I do? What do I do? I don't even know what's going on and I don't know what to do! I'm trapped I'm trapped I'm trapped…_

Morgan was so far into panic mode that she hadn't noticed that the awful chorus of noises had stopped. She picked her head back up and wiped the tears away on the back of her hand.

"What should we do with her?"

"Leave her. Hopefully she's learned her lesson and will be a bit more cooperative. Make sure someone is guarding her at all times. Do not take your eyes off of her. We're taking no chances."

Morgan heard the flurry of footsteps once again, the sound leaving the workroom. The soldiers, at least, the majority of them, were now elsewhere in the shop. Seeing as the doorbell stayed silent, she figured they were still inside, and weren't leaving anytime soon. She heard a few solitary steps, these slower and more profound. They stopped, and then a shuffle was heard, along with a small grunt.

"You might as well give up," the male voice said, his voice dripping with spite. "The more you fight us, the more pain you will receive. And trust me, there are many things we can do to you."

Morgan felt like her entire body was filled with static. She didn't know if it was nerves, or fear, or something else, but the feeling crawled across her skin, sending goosebumps up and down her arms.

"Remember how this feels, bitch. Remember this and realize that it can be much worse. Be warned, for once I have no use for you, I'll throw you to my men and let them have their way with you. They've been wanting a chance to get their hands on you for some time now."

Morgan's eyes widened, almost bugging out of her head. She put both hands to her mouth, stifling the quick intake of breath and the sound of shock she made. The words of absolute horror that appeared inside her head had almost escaped through her mouth. The soldier's words had shot the fear through her like a bullet and made her feel like throwing up. There was no mistaking that threat.

"There is nothing you can do," the man spat. "No one can help you now."

Morgan suddenly felt as if she was struck by lightning.

She held the clippers in her right hand, her thumb gliding across the handle, opening and closing the razor sharp blades with a few swift motions. She looked up, surveying the handle, feeling an entirely new emotion course through her veins. The fear was still there, still pulsing and swirling in her belly, but it had been pushed down. Adrenaline was now racing through her, igniting a fire under her skin. Her muscles clenched, urging her to get up, to move. Her heart beat thudded, not skittish and nervous, but intent and strong. Her eyes narrowed, her face contorted, suddenly and swiftly overcome by a fiery rage that she had never experienced in her life.

Morgan dangled the clippers between her fingers, a sick smile crossing her lips. She had no idea where this feeling came from, or how it came to her, but she didn't care. It didn't matter who these men were, or what they wanted, or why they were here. It didn't matter where they were from or why they chose her shop to hide in of all places. It didn't matter who this female prisoner was or why they needed almost a dozen men to keep an eye on her. All she knew is that there were intruders in her shop. They had a prisoner, they hurt her, and they were going to do much worse. Morgan had been very afraid, and although she still was, she was now completely and utterly pissed off.

 _Oh really, no one can help?_ She thought, almost laughing to herself. _We'll see about that._


	4. Chapter 4: Make a Choice

Chapter 4: Make a choice

Morgan had absolutely no idea how long she had left in her shift and she really didn't care. She now had a purpose, a spark lit within her. She couldn't escape, and she couldn't hide forever. Something had to be done.

Morgan was still sitting under the desk, her chin resting on her hand, her other hand swinging the clippers from side to side. She wasn't much of a fighter, despite her newfound attitude, so she needed to make a plan before she attempted anything.

 _Okay, she though, first, I need to get out of this room. I could watch the guards on the porch and see if I can catch them not paying attention and ambush them._

Morgan laughed silently to herself.

 _Me, ambushing two soldiers? With guns? There is no way in hell that is going to work. Morgan, you're insane. You can't fight anyone. They would have you in a heartbeat. You could wait for them to be distracted, sure, but your best bet would be to surprise them and run. The alleyway leads back into the residential area and there would be lots of places you could hide until you could find another business that has a phone…_

The soldiers were pacing around the room again. She heard different voices this time, still as bitter and angry as the first. They mocked the prisoner, the vileness leaving their throats easily, like they've been waiting ages to get to her.

"Keep mouthing off, witch. We'd love to get our chance with you."

"You've given us enough trouble. We're eager to see you bleed. "

"All the Captain has to do is give us the go-ahead, and you're ours. We've been missing the company of a woman…"

Morgan felt the nausea return to the back of her throat. She shook her head, as if to erase her previous thoughts of fleeing from her mind.

 _No, you aren't running. If you get off the porch, it'll be impossible to get back in. If you can't get back in, you a. can't find out what the actual hell is going on, and b. you can't help that prisoner. They don't know that you are here, so you are her only chance. If you run, you will know exactly what will happen to her. Can you live with that, Morgan? Can you?_

Morgan had decided. She couldn't run. She couldn't leave. Her only choice was to fight. She knew the shop better than anyone else. She knew where everything was, where all of the nooks and crannies where, and where all of the sharp objects were located. Most people didn't realize how many dangerous pieces of equipment were used in the sweet little flower shop every day. The people working there could easily spend hours every day with a knife or clippers or scissors in their hands. They also had saws, slicers, power tools, and a huge blade on a lever that was used for cutting large bunches of stems at a time. That one had a bold "Keep hands away at all times" warning on it. She might not be super skilled with weaponry, but if they disarmed her, she knew where she could get something else.

Morgan tried to make a plan, but she was still bewildered at the entire situation. There were soldiers hanging out in a flower shop, claiming to be from Oz. Morgan wished she had her phone on her so she could actually look up where this Oz was. Even if it was it's own town or city, there really wouldn't be a reason for them to have a uniform. The uniforms themselves were even a bit odd, being flashy emerald green and gold. She did know of an Oz that was heavily influenced with those color choices…

 _Nope. That's just silly._

Morgan finally figured that the only way she could find anything out was to stop hiding and go downstairs. She waited, thinking, trying to find the perfect opportunity.

The opportunity presented itself sooner than she had anticipated.

Bootsteps were coming up the stairs.

Morgan pressed herself back into the wall, curling her knees into her so she fit totally under the bench. She tried to quiet her breathing, now rough and ragged from the anxiety that had wiggled its way into her. She gripped the clippers tightly, angling them away from her. If they found her, she would only have precious seconds to get that blade into one of them.

The boots went up the stairs slowly at first, and then quickly. Morgan watched as a pair of feet stumbled past her hiding spot, completely unaware of her existence. They rounded the corner, and bolted straight into the bathroom. The door remained open, and the room was suddenly filled with the sound of vomiting.

 _What the hell…?_

Another set ascended the staircase. The soldier also walked right past her, following the ones that came before it. She saw them stop a few feet from her spot, angled towards the bathroom. It waited, silent, until the puking stopped and only deep gasps of breath were heard.

The person that the boots belonged to spoke.

"Are you alright, soldier?" The voice was stern, officially, but not angry. It almost sounded…concerned.

The other soldier, presumably still hunched over the toilet, groaned.

"How…" Morgan was surprised at how young the voice sounded. His voice was higher, still holding onto the crackle of puberty. He couldn't haven't been more than a teenager, which horrified Morgan.

"How could you do that?" the young soldier continued. "How could you stand there and hear them talk like that and…" The soldier made a gagging sound, as if he was holding back another round of vomit. "…and he just kept hitting her. All that blood…how do you stand it? How can you watch them do that to someone and not feel anything?"

The other soldier, the one still standing, sighed.

"You're still very young," he said sympathetically. "You haven't really seen the realities of battle yet. I remember the first time I saw a prisoner being interrogated. I can still hear the screams sometimes, but you get used to it. Everything we do is for a purpose."

"But…but that wasn't an interrogation! The Captain wasn't questioning, he was just doing it…because he wanted to…He wanted to hurt her…I thought we were supposed to be better than that."

The other soldier let out a small laugh.

"War has it's own rules, soldier. The Captain knows what he's doing, and you need to respect that. You will get used to it in due time. Get yourself together and search this upper floor. Report back anything strange or suspicious, or anything of use that you can find. Do you understand?"

The young soldier groaned again, but replied with a weak, "Yes, sir."

The boots turned, walking past Morgan and around the corner, descending down the steps. When the silence filled the room again, Morgan could hear the young soldier moaning softly, still not moving from his spot in the bathroom.

It was then that Morgan got a wild idea.

 _He doesn't like what they are doing. He doesn't want to hurt anyone. Maybe I can use him to find out what the actual hell is happening around here. Maybe…I can convince him to help me._

Morgan slid towards the light, moving at a snail's pace so that she didn't make a sound. She leaned out from the shadows, head tilting toward the open bathroom door. The soldier, dressed in the uniform of his comrades, still had his face over the toilet, his arms around his head. From how he was sitting, he couldn't see her. Morgan stood up, clippers in a death grip in her right hand, sharp metal facing forward. She only had a moment to get this right, or he would alert the others and she was done for.

 _Here's your chance, Morgan. Don't blow it._

Morgan took a deep breath and charged forward. She ran into the bathroom, closing the door and flipping the lock in one swift motion, trapping the soldier in the room with her. She dove forward, arm outstretched, and landed on her knees next to the young man, who had sat up and was now very alarmed. Within seconds, her clippers were at his throat.

"Don't say a word or I'll shove this thing so far into your throat that it'll hit the wall behind you," she growled, pressing the metal into the delicate skin on his neck.

The soldier's eyes bulged, his face flooded with shock. Morgan saw that he really did look as young as he sounded. This wasn't a man, but a boy, maybe eighteen years old. He looked like he was barely out of high school. He had dark hair, buzzed on the sides into a pseudo Mohawk, the hair on top curling downwards. He had brown eyes that were almost as dark as his hair, with the tiniest bit of stubble on his cheeks and chin. The thing that Morgan noticed most was that he looked absolutely petrified. He didn't even respond to her; his eyes just stayed large and he froze to the spot, his back pressed against the bathroom wall.

Morgan cleared her throat. "You need to tell me who the hell you are and why you all are in my shop"

The soldier opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His eyes glanced downward, focusing as well as they could on the silver weapon digging in under his chin. Morgan grumbled to herself and pulled back, the clippers now angled towards his face, hovering in the air a few inches from his nose.

"Let's try this again. Who are you and why are you in my shop?"

The soldier raised his hands to his chest, palms out, a gesture of surrender.

"I'll talk if you promise not to stab me."

Morgan tilted her head. "Why should I do that? You could have your friends all up here in a second."

The soldier's face contorted, and he let out a sound that was almost a snort.

"They are not my friends, and I promise I won't alert them if you please just GET THAT OUT OF MY FACE"

Morgan pulled her elbow back towards her side. Her arm was still out, the clippers still aimed toward him, but now there was more space between them. Morgan sat on the floor (She was very thankful that she got bored enough to scrub it this afternoon) and crossed her legs.

"Better?"

The young soldier nodded, letting out a loud breath that he had apparently been holding in. His body relaxed, and he sunk more fully onto the bathroom floor.

"What do you want to know?"

"I've asked you twice now, or are you hard of hearing?"

"Hey, that's not fair, you ambushed me!" he hissed, trying not to raise his voice. "That thing is still pointed at me."

"And it will stay pointed at you until I find out what I need to know. You are the one intruding in my shop, therefore I deserve all of the answers that I want. Now TALK."

"Okay, okay, fine, you make a fair point."

The young soldier sat up straighter.

"First question: Who am I? My name is Forsmyth, more specifically Private Sayer Forsmyth. I'm currently the youngest and lowest ranking soldier in the Gale Force."

"The Gale Force?" asked Morgan. "What in the world is a Gale Force?"

"We're special operations military, based in the Emerald City."

Morgan crossed her arms, glaring. "You're lying to me. I've never heard of a Gale Force, and there is no place anywhere around that is called the Emerald City. Maybe I have to stab you after all."

The soldier, Sayer, looked at Morgan quizzically. He tilted his head and stared at her for a moment before he sat up again, the realization dawning on him.

"Oh, right, you wouldn't know. The Wizard warned us about interacting with his own people. You don't believe that we exist."

"It's not that I don't believe, it's that you are lying to me."

"I am not lying to you. We come from the Emerald City, the crown jewel of Oz."

"There is no way you can be from Oz, because Oz is not a real place!"

"It obviously is, seeing that I grew up there."

Morgan laughed. "Oh really?"

"Yes really." Sayer's eyes narrowed. "I'm from Oz, more specifically from Munchkinland."

"You're awfully tall to be a Munchkin."

"We're not all short," he replied indignantly. "That's a myth."

"Right, right. So you're from Munchkinland then? Which of the Emiment Thropps is governing at the moment? Is it still Frex or have we moved on to Nessarose? I want to know which part of the story I'm supposed to be at." Morgan almost rolled her eyes at her own sarcasm.

"Governor Nessarose has been dead for some time now." Sayer's voice, serious, became full of suspicion. "The governorship has been fought over since the house fell on her. How do you know about them?"

Morgan shook her head. She was really getting tired of this nonsense.

"The same way you do. It's all just a story, make believe, not real. You and your army are real and I want to know why in the hell you decided to break into my flower shop."

"We needed a place to rest for the night," said Sayer. "We had been traveling on foot for some time now, and we just recently arrived here. We didn't know anything about this world, only that we needed to get away from any prying eyes as soon as possible. The Wizard warned us that it might not be safe. They sent me to scout for an abandoned building, and honestly, I didn't see anyone here."

Morgan's brow furrowed, a glare now staring back at the young soldier.

"Oh, so it's _your_ fault that these people are here and I'm trapped?"

"Listen, I didn't see you, I swear." Sayers hands had shot up into the surrender posture again. "I scouted a few other places, but they were occupied. I would never have brought them in if I would have seen you."

"Well that's just great, I'm glad that your hindsight is functional."

"Look, I was just doing my job. I found a place that looked empty, I saw nobody in there, so I chose it."

"Didn't you find it suspicious that the door was unlocked and dinging very loudly?"

"Well, I mean, we figured it was a business. We have flower shops in Oz, too, you know."

"Are they normal flowers or do they sing and spout magic?"

Sayer raised an eyebrow. "Flowers don't talk nor do they spout magic. Magic isn't just a thing that floats about like dandelions. It's wild, untamable, and very hard to control. It's giving us a lot of trouble at the moment."

"Is that why you're here?" asked Morgan. "Is there a magical problem in Oz?"

"I thought you didn't believe Oz is real."

"I'm still doubtful, but you still haven't answered as to why you all are here."

"I did in fact tell you that we're here because your shop looked empty."

Morgan lunged forward, her weapon grazing the bridge of Sayer's nose.

"I am in no mood for your banter, boy," she growled. "There are armed people down there who apparently have a prisoner and have been beating the crap out of her for God knows how long. You are dangerous and you are here and I need to know why or I'm embedding this in your skull."

"Do you always threaten the people who come into your shop with bodily harm?"

"I would if my boss wouldn't fire me."

"We weren't supposed to come here," began Sayer. "I never wanted to come here. To be honest, I never wanted to join the guard in the first place, but I didn't really have a choice. My father was a soldier, just like his father and his father before that. I was set on the path to be a Gale Force soldier once I emerged from the womb and my parents realized that I was male. I wanted absolutely none of this life. I fought my family for so long, but it was of no use. My father actually enrolled me in the Academy without my knowledge. When I got my acceptance letter, I just gave up and gave in. That was a few months ago. I literally got out of training the day before they assigned me to this Battalion."

"So I'm getting your life story first?"

"Will you stop already!" Sayer spat, causing Morgan to back away slightly. "Are you going to let me talk or not?"

Morgan removed the clippers from his face and crossed her arms again. She said nothing more.

"Anyways," continued Sayer. "I was assigned to this Battalion after our former Captain was convicted of treason and executed. They removed anyone that might be loyal to him or to the Resistance."

"The Resistance? Who exactly are they resisting?" interrupted Morgan.

Sayer glared at her. Morgan bit her lip, looking down.

"Sorry."

"What was I saying…oh yes…they removed anyone they thought might be loyal and replaced them. I wasn't supposed to be out in the field yet, but they threw me in there and told me I had to learn fast. We were immediately sent out on a mission to find and capture Oz's most notorious enemy. She was incredibly hard to catch. The Gale Force has almost caught her hundreds of times, and although we did manage to catch her more than once, she always found a way to escape. She has lots of allies, both in the Resistance and with the Animals, so we often had to deal with them breaking her out. She had been spotted much more frequently after the previous Captain was executed, and we did finally capture her. This time, though, the Wizard decided that in order to finally give her the punishment she "deserves", we had to take her somewhere where nobody could possibly aide her. He, along with Madame Morrible, found a way to conjure up another storm."

Sayer stopped and took a few breaths.

"You got here by storm?" Morgan asked. She knew everything he said was crazy talk, but she spoke softly, trying to coax out more. "How?"

"It's…hard to describe," the young soldier said after a few more breaths. "It was a total downpour, the hardest rain I've ever felt in my life. It was like being pelted with wet rocks. We were running through the forest, dragging our prisoner, trying not to get lost or get soaked. The flashes of lightning were the only guide we had because it was so dark out. It wasn't even darkness really, because eventually your eyes adjust. It was like running with your eyes closed. I just remember us running and running, and then the wind was whipping around us so fast. It yanked us off of trail, shoving us, and, I swear to you, we were lifted off the ground. The next thing I remember is waking up in a field not too far away from here. Our Captain knew about this whole thing, and he had special instructions from the Wizard. We were to split into two: Battalion A would take the prisoner and find shelter. Battalion B would scout and find the Wizard, who was supposed to meet them later, and then we would all eventually gather here."

Morgan was deep in thought, pondering over everything she had heard. She truly believed that this kid was insane, but he sounded so sincere, as if he really did believe everything he had said. His story was strange, but the entire situation was strange. She decided to continue.

"Are things really that crazy in Oz that you were thrown into another world just because of a prisoner?"

"Oz is at war," stated Sayer. "It's been at war for years. The Wizard and his followers are cracking down on the Animals, refusing to let them work and even speak. He's been raiding their communities, caging and killing them. The Resistance has allied themselves with the animals, already furious over the Wizard's iron-fisted rule over the country. They've been sending squads to wage counter attacks against us. I was there for one of them. They blew up our entire camp. I managed to escape, but many of my fellow soldiers did not."

Sayer stopped, his eyes seeming lost and far away. He was only gone a moment before he snapped back and continued talking.

"Both the Wizard and the Resistance have their hands in the local governments. We no longer just have soldiers and rebels fighting; we now have governors and princes and kings taking sides and squabbling. The death toll is only going up. Blood is on everyone's hands. That's why we had to take her away, as far away as possible. We had to get away from the front lines and out of the war itself."

Morgan asked the question she almost didn't want to ask.

"So what do they plan on doing with the prisoner?"

The look on Sayer's face changed. He suddenly looked very sad, and once he caught Morgan noticing, he hung his head.

"I don't know. They told me, but now I don't really believe it." His voice was even sadder than his expression. "They told me so many stories about her, that she was evil and a murderer. Once I actually met her, though, something just seemed…off…about what they all said. I can't quite place it, but I felt this feeling inside myself as soon as I came face to face with her. I started doubting them, doubting everything I was told to believe."

"I heard them, you know," said Morgan bitterly. "I heard them beating the crap out of her. I heard them saying those horrible things to her about what you all were going to do if the Captain gave you permission."

Sayer's head shot up, his face turning pale.

"Oh no, not me. I'm not part of that. That's just—" Sayer lurched forward slightly, as if he was going to be sick. Morgan shot backwards, smacking into the opposite wall of the small room. Sayer blinked a few times, took in a few deep breaths, and sat up again.

"I just…I never thought…I know of interrogations and such, but I never thought…I never thought I'd see a prisoner get tortured before. She had already told them everything they wanted. They just wanted to hurt her. I…I couldn't deal with it. I just couldn't. Hearing the sounds, seeing all of the blood, seeing the pain in her face, in her eyes…it made me sick. It still makes me sick."

Sayer's eyes bore into Morgan's. She forced herself to meet his stare and not look away.

"She's barely older than I am. They say were adults, but we're really still just kids." Sayer scanned Morgan's face. "She's probably similar in age to you, really."

"How old are you anyway?" asked Morgan.

"I'll be 20 next month," he replied.

"You're pretty close. I'm 22."

Sayer nodded. "We're just kids. Kids imprisoned, kids being tortured, kids fighting wars…And it's even worse because she's female. The way they look at her, these men who I'm supposed to trust with my life…they look at her like she's a piece of meat. And the things they say…."

"Trust me, I heard them all from here." Morgan's anger had returned, the fire burning inside her. "It's was vile and very rapey. Your comrades are disgusting."

"I cannot disagree with that."

"So that's why you ended up in this bathroom? They made you watch them hurt her and you couldn't deal with it?"

Sayer nodded again.

"I'm going to get so much shit for it once I return. They already make fun of me for being the youngest and supposedly the weakest. Now I will never hear the end of it."

Morgan exhaled gruffly. "They make fun of you for being a decent human being with a heart. That's messed up. They are the monsters here."

"Monster is a good descriptor," said Sayer. "They called her a monster, which is why she gets treated so inhumanely. It's why the Animals get treated the way they do. Anyone who is different is bad, evil, not human, not even worth our common decency."

"What did she even do to deserve this?" asked Morgan. "How can someone you describe as just a girl be Oz's number one enemy?"

Sayer laughed to himself for a moment. "You may not believe it's real, yet you know about Oz and about the goings on in the governorship in Munchkinland. You know more than you think. You aren't putting two and two together."

"There's a lot for me to put together right now. You are asking me to believe a lot of things, a lot of things that sound really insane to me right now. You want me to believe that you and your soldier buddies showed up here in a thunderstorm from Oz. None of that is supposed to be real."

"Yeah, well, you know what is real?"

Sayer shot forward, his hand wrapping around Morgan's wrist. For a second, she couldn't even react. She felt his grip around her wrist and froze.

"This is real," he said sternly. "I'm real."

He let go of her wrist. "The soldiers downstairs are real. Their guns are real. They have a real prisoner who is in real danger, and frankly, if they find you, you will be in real danger as well."

"I kind of figured that, hence why I'm hiding at the moment."

"You have a weapon. Did you plan on fighting through them?"

"….maybe."

"Seriously?" Sayer looked at Morgan like she was crazy. "That's a terrible idea. You wouldn't make it far. Why didn't you just try to escape? If you ran fast enough, they probably wouldn't even bother going after you or wasting ammo on you."

Morgan pursed her lips, her fingers running over the plastic handle on the clippers. The threatening words of the Captain flickered through her mind again, the rage still softly swirling in her chest.

"I could have run," she said. "I thought about it multiple times. But then I heard them hitting her. I heard the things they said to her, the threats they made. I couldn't in good conscience run away, knowing what was going to happen. I couldn't do it. I don't think I could have lived with myself."

Sayers face softened. A small smile crept across his lips.

"You were going to try and save her, weren't you?"

"…Maybe. Yes. Well…I was going to try."

"So you're going to risk your life to help someone you don't know and haven't even seen?"

"I know it doesn't make any sense," said Morgan. "It doesn't make sense to me either, but it's just a feeling in my gut and I trust my gut. I have to do it. I have to do something. One of them said there was no one who could help her, but I can. Or at least I can try."

"It does make sense, at least to me. That's a really altruistic thing to do. I'm…impressed."

Morgan stopped abruptly, the feeling of horror hitting her in the face.

 _I just told a soldier my entire plan._

"You're going to tell them," she blurted out. "I just told you that I'm going to try and free your prisoner. I just told you and you're going to tell them and oh my god—"

"No, no!" Sayer was next to her now, not even an inch away, their legs almost touching. "Don't think that! I won't tell them anything! I don't like what they're doing, either. I don't want to do this. I don't want to be here. I don't want to watch them hurt her again."

Morgan's eyes narrowed. "You have to go back down sometime. What are you going to tell them?"

"I'll just tell them that I was sick, that's all. I won't tell them about you. If I see you again, which honestly, for your sake, I hope not, then I'll pretend that I've never seen you before in my life."

Morgan eyed this young soldier, debating whether or not she could trust him. He was one of them, armed and battle ready and dangerous. But he also told her everything about himself and what was going on, and the pleading look on his face did nothing to hide his feelings. She decided she had to trust him.

"Okay, I trust you."

"You know," said Sayer, "I told you my name, but you never told me yours."

"How do I know that you even gave me your real name?" said Morgan playfully.

"Oh trust me, you'll hear my fellow soldiers using it whist mocking me once I descend the staircase," Sayer replied.

"I'm Morgan."

Sayer reached out a hand. "Nice to meet you, Morgan."

Morgan smiled, extending her own hand. The two shook, almost laughing at the absurdity of exchanging polite pleasantries while sitting on the floor of a very tiny bathroom.

"I prefer this over the weapon in my face."

"Well, be careful, or my offer still stands."

"Do you still think Oz isn't real?" Sayer asked.

"At this point, I have no idea about anything," admitted Morgan. "But I know what I need to do, and that's what matters."

"FORSMYTH, ARE YOU DONE YACKING OR ARE YOU TAKING A SHIT?!"

The voice boomed up the staircase and into the upstairs. Morgan made a face at Sayer, who in turn began to turn a dark shade of pink.

"See, I told you, I gave you my real name," he said, making no attempt to hide his embarrassment. "That's Braxton. He's a real pain in the ass."

"I can see that...well...hear that."

The two stood up. Morgan realized that Sayer was smaller than she thought, standing at the same five feet eight inches that she stood at. She stepped back, unlocking the door with a click. She pulled the door open, and Sayer gave her a quick nod.

"Be careful, Morgan. Do not let them catch you. I don't want to have to see your face again."

"Same to you."

Sayer nodded again before slipping out of the door and hurriedly walking down the stairs. Morgan fiddled with the clippers in her hand for a few minutes, trying to think of her next steps. The information she had just been giving was still running in circles around her brain, and she was struggling to make sense of it all. All she knew was that something very bad was happening, and she was now stuck in the middle of it.


	5. Chapter 5: A really stupid plan

Chapter 5: A really stupid plan

Morgan hadn't hung around the bathroom for long. When she emerged, she did not immediately retreat to her hiding spot under the bench. Instead, she sat on top of the bench, kicking her legs back and forth like a child's, lost in thought. She had to get everything she now knew straight and she had to make a plan.

 _Okay, so, let's go over this. Apparently, these are Gale Force soldiers. Oz is at war, and they finally caught the prisoner they've been chasing after. They had to bring her here because people there kept helping her. They got here in a storm, like Dorothy in her freaking tornado. The Gale Force consists of gross assholes that like to torture prisoners and say rapey shit, aside from the one that I just met._

Morgan held her head in her hands.

 _All I wanted to do was get through the end of my shift, lock up, go home, and enjoy my weekend. Now I'm apparently in the middle of some nasty war business and I'm the only person who can save this prisoner. Soldier kid…oh, what was his name?...Sayer. That's it. Sayer has his heart in the right place, but I highly doubt he'll be of any help to me down there, especially with the others around. I'm stuck doing this on my own._

Morgan sat up, combing the hair out of her face.

 _Oz. They are apparently from Oz. I didn't lie, I have no idea what to believe anymore. These people are obviously real and here, but…ugh…this is so much to process. There is no way this fairy tale made-up bullshit can possibly be real. It can't be. But yet, they're here….and…_

Morgan wrapped a few strands of hair around her fingers, tugging in frustration. She almost let out an angry groan, but held it in at the last second, realizing that she didn't want to alert anyone of her presence. She was incredibly confused, doubting her own sense of reality, the fire burning inside her still coming and going, leaving her with random bursts of energy. She was disoriented and frustrated and angry and scared and everything in between.

 _I don't even know who she is. Sayer says I'm not putting two and two together, but I really am trying to put all the pieces of this puzzle together. There has to be part of the picture I'm not understanding._

Morgan wrapped her pinkie around the small metal loop on the edge of her clippers, meant for hanging it on the wall, and flipped it up and down with a flick of her wrist. The blades flung forward and backward hazardously, but Morgan didn't feel unsafe. She used a pair like these every day. They were like an extension of her hand, an extension that could cause bodily harm. And, after her meeting with Sayer, she now knew that she was not afraid to use them.

 _Okay, self_ , Morgan flipped the clippers once more and grasped them tightly, closing the blades. _Time to focus. You need a plan._

Morgan surveyed the room.

 _So, you've made it clear to yourself that you have to go downstairs. There is only one way downstairs, and that is, obviously, down the stairs. If you walk along the edges, they won't creak, but you'll be easy to spot. You have to find a way to get down the stairs without being seen. If you can make it down the steps, the sink area is literally right there. You'll be able to duck under the sink or hide behind the clean buckets. If the floral foam knife is still in the sink, you could even use that to help fight. Did you do the dishes? Oh shit, I can't remember..._

 _Focus, Morgan._

 _Okay, anyways..._

 _If I can make it down the stairs and find a good hiding spot, I'll have to find the prisoner. There really aren't a lot of options for them; there's the workroom, the front room, and the side room. The side room is almost all windows, so I doubt they'll want the rest of the block to see what they are up to. That leaves the front room and the workroom. If they are in the front room, I'll be able to duck through the side room or slide along the wall and surprise them. If they are in the workroom...well...I'm screwed._

 _Honestly, it really sounds like I'm screwed no matter what._

 _No, I can't doubt myself. If I do, then I'm in big trouble._

 _Reality though…_

 _Oh gosh, Morgan, now you're talking to yourself. Get a grip already._

Morgan shook her head, annoyed at her scattered thoughts and her inability to come up with something useful. The shop was not set up well for stealth movement. Getting down there was going to be a challenge in of itself, let alone the actual rescue.

 _What if I have to fight someone? I know I threatened Sayer, but he's a kid. Could I go toe to toe with a well-trained soldier? Could I do it? If I even made it to the prisoner, could I really safely get us out?_

The rage inside Morgan had fizzled, and was now being replaced with anxiety and fear. She felt the anxiety curl itself into a ball, settling into the pit of her stomach. She suddenly felt weak, shaky, the anxiety weighing her down, the fear crawling up her skin like ants. Her mind became a sea of doubt, every possible bad situation rolling through her mind. They mixed and replayed over and over until she found it impossible to think straight.

 _I can't do this. I can't fight. I can't save anyone. Why did I ever think this was a good idea? Since when am I a hero? I've never been brave, strong, or anything resembling that. I'm not a hero. I cannot believe that I seriously convinced myself that I could do this. What a joke. I'm just Morgan. I can't do this._

Morgan's eyes went to the door. She watched the small window in the door for some time, not registering any movement. She stood up, her feet guiding her back to her possible escape route. She ducked low, only the top of her head and her eyes coming over the glass. She looked from left to right, back and forth, again and again. There was nobody there. The porch was empty. Morgan did a tiny happy dance.

 _Yes. Freedom! Now is your chance. Now you can get out of here. Down the stairs, up the hill. Go towards the ballfields, or the McCartney's house. You can hide behind their pool. Maybe if you call the police or something, they can-_

The escape plan was interrupting by an ear-shattering scream.

Morgan felt her blood run cold. A shiver raced across her skin, the sudden fright sending it's icy breath over her body. Her most basic instincts told her to grab the handle, bolt out the door, run, run as fast as she could, run and don't look back.

 _Go! Run! Get out of here!_

But the fire, the rage she thought had been crushed down by the fear, returned, this time burning even hotter and brighter than it did before. She turned around, the thoughts of running gone, as if they had never been thought of at all. She walked with resolve towards the bench near the bathroom, grabbing the clippers from where she had left them. She took a few steps back, noting her reflection in the bathroom mirror. The anger in her face, the furrowed brow, the scowl, the spark in her eyes almost made her jump for a second. It was like she was not looking at herself, but a braver, darker twin. She stared into her own eyes for a moment, taking slow, deliberate breaths.

 _Running is not an option. You are not a coward. You are the only thing standing between this prisoner and a world of suffering. You have to fight. You have to help her. You have no choice now. Fight._

Morgan knew her plan was stupid. So stupid, in fact, that is was basically nonexistent. She had attempted to think it through, but to no avail. Her only idea was to get down stairs and hide again, and then it was all up to fate and chance. If she was spotted, she would have to fight. If she won, she would have blood on her hands, possibly being responsible for the death of another human being. If she lost, she would be captured, probably tortured like the prisoner, or maybe even killed.

This should have worried her more. Morgan was a chronic overthinker, not the type to just _do_ something. She always needed all of the information, always needed to carefully plan everything in her life. She was the type that idolized the rebellious, the do-ers, the jump-in-head-first kinds of people, because she was exactly the opposite. When Morgan did something wild, it was still usually preceded by months of planning. The watercolor fox tattooed just underneath her elbow had been agonized over for almost a year before she got it inked. The teal hair color was a split-second decision, followed by two days of "oh-my-gosh-what-did-I-just-do" panic.

Cautious, nervous, worry-wart, obsessive, anxiety-prone Morgan was charging into something that she could not comprehend. This was very unlike her, and she was oddly comfortable with that.

Another scream broke Morgan's train of thought. She watched her face harden in the mirror, the adrenaline coursing through her body like a drug. She hurried out of the bathroom, passed the bench, and paused, her hand resting on the doorknob to the staircase.

 _Once you open this door, there is no going back._

Morgan took a deep breath and turned the knob.


	6. Chapter 6: Girl vs Gale Force

Chapter 6: Girl vs. Gale Force

The doorknob clicked. Morgan leaned forward, opening the door as gently as possible. She extended it out just enough to fit her body through, slinking sideways through the opening. She stepped as close as she could to the wall, leaning her weight gingerly on each foot, doing her best to avoid the creaking of the old wood beneath her feet. Morgan was barely breathing as she stepped, painstakingly slow, down one step after another. She got about halfway down the steps before another horrible sound filled the room. This one was less of a scream and more of a cry; a sound of pain, of true agony. Morgan felt herself shiver, the sound rooting into her insides, sending a twinge into her heart. She gripped the handrail tightly, holding on for dear life. Her heartbeat was a drum, pounding percussively in her head, rattling her chest. She was frightened; not just for herself, but for the person she was trying to rescue. She wondered if Sayer was there, listening, watching of all this. She wondered if he felt the same nausea in his throat that she did.

As horrible as it was, Morgan realized she had an advantage. If the soldiers were torturing the prisoner, then they would be distracted. If they were distracted, then they might not see a girl in a green tee shirt sneaking down the stairs with a pair of clippers. She moved faster now, her weight on her tiptoes, making as little pressure on the steps as she could. She reached the bottom and carefully surveyed the work room. She let out a sigh of relief when she saw that the room was empty.

Just as she thought of earlier, the only part of her plan that she actually thought up, Morgan curled around the steps, slipping between the sink and the bench. She hit the ground, sliding under the bench. She moved a few buckets around, hiding her from sight even if one had the sense to look down. Just as she did upstairs, Morgan pulled her knees into herself, making herself as small as possible.

 _Okay, Step one: get downstairs. Step one: complete. Step two: find a new hiding spot. Step two: complete._

 _…_

 _Now what?_

Morgan figured that she would have some sort of a clue what to do next when she found her newest hiding place, but she didn't. She honestly didn't think she'd get that far, so there was nothing else in mind.

Step three turned out to be 'keep your mouth shut'.

Morgan heard footsteps, the sound of boots thumping against the hard tile floor. It didn't sound like there were many of them, maybe two or three. She couldn't see what they were doing, for the bench was more like a desk, a piece of wood blocking her from behind. She could hear and almost feel them walking around her, stopping on the other side of the bench. She felt the hair on the back of neck stand up, realizing that they were only a few inches away from her. If that partition wasn't there, she could have reached out and touched them.

"What now, Captain?"

Morgan went as silent as possible, zeroing in on the conversation above her. She noted three separate voices, one of them obviously belonging to the Captain of the guard.

"We wait for Battalion B and the Wizard. He will know exactly what we should do with her."

"Well, I know what we could do with her…"

His voice dripped with innuendo. Morgan forced herself to hold back a snarl.

 _Disgusting excuse for a man._

"Not yet. The Wizard wants to meet with her first, then he will give us our next set of instructions."

"Why do we still have her?" the third voice entered. "Why can't we just kill her and go home?"

"The Wizard wants her alive, therefore she must stay alive. I do not question the Wizard's motives, and neither should you."

The third voice cussed under his breath and walked away. Once his footsteps had vanished from the room, the two soldiers left continued their conversation, this time quieter. Morgan leaned back against the wood, listening as closely as she could.

"The men are getting restless, Captain. None of them were told about this mission. They had no idea they were coming to this world. They are in a completely foreign world, exhausted, lost, confused, and although they won't admit it, some of them are frightened. Blind obedience to the Wizard is not enough. They want answers."

"They will get answers when I get the answers," replied the Captain. "I would have killed her myself long ago, but I was forbidden. I don't know what the Wizard could possibly want with her, especially after everything she's done. All that I know is that he needed to bring her to his world, and she needed to stay alive. I may not agree, but I follow orders, and I will continue to do so without complaint, especially after what happened to Captain Tygelaar. I will not be accused of treason."

 _Tygelaar?_ Morgan thought to herself. _Why does that name sound so familiar….?_

"What should I tell the men, then? Obviously, they cannot know that you are as in the dark as they are."

"Tell them nothing more. The explanation they get from me is enough. We need to keep their loyalty."

"They won't stay for long, sir. They are chomping at the bit, losing their minds for months of nonstop hunting and fighting and chasing her down. Eventually, they are going to override us and tear her apart."

 _Oh hell no. There is no way I'm letting that happen._

"They will do no such thing!" The Captain's voice rose, almost to a yell. Morgan could hear him stop himself, realizing how loud he had become. His voice dropped again, now more of a hiss than a yell. "My soldiers will obey my orders, and I obey the Wizard. Anything else is treason. Make that very clear to them, Corporal Braxton. It is either loyalty or treason."

"Understood, sir."

"Good." Their stance shifted. "I knew I could count on you." One set of feet turned, walking into the front room. The other stayed for a moment, the right one lightly tapping on the floor. He sighed, and Morgan noted that this was the voice of Braxton, the man that Sayer called a pain in the ass. Braxton paced back and forth for a little while, talking softly to himself, so softly that Morgan could not understand what he was saying. She wondered if he was like Sayer, unhappy with the way things were going. From their conversation, it seemed like many of the soldiers were displeased with their foray into the flower shop. This Wizard, whoever he was, apparently did not give out information liberally. To Morgan, it seemed like he was purposefully keeping something from them. It made Morgan even more curious to what exactly was unfolding around her.

Despite how crazy Sayer's story sounded, and how crazy she still found it, Morgan needed to go along with it. She didn't have a choice, really. There was no other way to explain who these people were and what was going on. A part of her still nagged about what was and wasn't real, but she shoved it to the back of her mind. Pretending this was all an elaborate lie was not going to help her succeed in her mission.

Morgan had been listening so intently that she hadn't noticed that she extended her right leg out in front of her. Braxton had turned close to the bench, something he was carrying smacking off of the corner. Morgan jumped, and in doing so, her right leg kicked one of the buckets that she was supposed to be hiding behind, sending it into the air. It hit off of the sink, smacked the ground with a loud thwap, and rolled a few feet across the floor. Braxton stopped walking.

 _Oh shit oh shit oh shit._

Braxton was walking slower now. He stepped slowly, carefully, one foot in the front of the other around the corner of the bench. Morgan heard something rattle, and then the scraping of a weapon being unsheathed. The bench wasn't assembled well, a small bit of light coming through the cracks. She could see his face, hard, etched in weary lines, blonde eyebrows furrowed over blue eyes, and a flash of metal in his hand.

 _Oh my god what do I do what do I do oh my god oh my god_

Braxton stopped and turned, his boots almost touching Morgan's feet. She had the hand that was unarmed pressed over her mouth, trying as hard as she could not to make a sound. His hand dropped, and Morgan could see a small knife, silver metal set into a brown leather handle. She knew that he knew she was there. It was only a matter of time before he found her.

Morgan had felt like she hadn't had any choices in this matter so far, but now she had two. She could either let him catch her and possibly run her through with his knife, or she could attack him. She turned the clippers in her hand, the blades pressed together, curling upward, reflecting the light creeping through the miniscule errors in the make of the bench. She took a deep breath through her nose, forcing her racing heartbeat to slow. She cleared her mind, focusing on the sounds of her breathing, of the soldier's breathing, of the way he held the knife loosely in his hands, apparently not expecting much. She focused on the blade in her hand, the way she gripped it tightly, the feeling of her shoes upon the ground. She leaned forward, her weight on her toes, balancing herself in her hiding spot. She shifted, moving slightly, a slight scraping sound unavoidable. The soldier took a step back, and his own body shifted as if he was going to look down.

Morgan knew it was now or never. She was going to have to fight.

Braxton's knees bent, his torso leaning, his head coming down last. He only met Morgan's eyes for a split second before the girl, full of fear and fire and rage, lunged forward.

She shot out of her hiding place like a rocket, her body slamming into his stomach. He flew back, cracking off of the sink, the air being shoved out of his lungs in a breathy groan. Morgan found her footing, her own back pressed against the bench, the small path between the sink and bench giving her maybe a foot or two to work with. Braxton, in his surprise, had dropped his knife. He looked at Morgan in surprise, holding it for a few seconds before he attempted to grab his weapon off of the ground. Morgan whipped her arm sideways, the clippers flashing across his shoulder. He let out a hiss of pain, grabbing at the wound. Morgan could see the crimson staining his shirt and swung again, this time grazing his arm.

"GUARDS!"

Braxton was calling for reinforcements. Morgan felt the fear flicker through her heart. She glared at the man, coiling her arm back like a spring. She could hear the footsteps charging in the room behind her, ready to come to his aid. Without thinking, she released the spring, driving her clippers deep into the soldier's stomach. She froze, momentarily horrified at the red pooling around her weapon, the tool that she had used just hours ago to trim the ends of a bridal bouquet. She quickly ripped the clippers from his stomach, the red stain expanding rapidly on his uniform. Braxton grabbed the wound with both hands, trying feebly to stop the blood from flowing. He looked at her, eyes bugging out of his head, face white as a ghost, sweat dripping from his brow.

"Who…" he gasped. "Who are you?"

Braxton's knees gave out. Morgan jumped to her right as the man fell, collapsing in a heap on the ground. Morgan backed up, terrified, horrified at what she had done.

 _Is he…dead? Did I just kill him?_

She didn't have a lot of time to mull it over. The room was now full of men, running all over the place, searching for her. She held the clippers so tightly that she felt her fingers go numb. They entered from either side, skidding to a stop at the sight before them. Here was one of their own, on the floor, bleeding out and possible dead. Then there was Morgan, a strange girl, armed with a small but trusty weapon, the soldier's blood on the blade, handle, and her fingers. Splatters of his blood were now on her clothes, her hands, and her face. They stared at her with the same expression of horror that she wore on her own face. She turned, seeing more soldiers standing on the other side of the bench. There were too many of them, and they were blocking both of her escape routes. She held the clippers out in front of her, flinging her body back and forth, not sure of where or what to focus on.

Some of the soldiers to her left were yelling to each other, lifting Braxton's body and taking it away. At least, Morgan assumed they were yelling, because she could hear nothing. It was as if the sound had been turned off, putting the scene on mute. The soldiers were closing in around her, coming from both sides. One of them grabbed her from behind, strong arms wrapped around her middle, pinning her arms to her sides. She kicked, the heel of her Converse making contact with a shin. She kicked again and again, not sure where her heels were actually landing. The grip loosened, and Morgan sent her elbow back into his ribs. Another soldier descended on her; She bent her arm, curling in front of her, lashing in a diagonal that sent more crimson droplets into the air. Another attempted to grab her, and more droplets rained upon them. A sea of male faces surrounded her, her vision overwhelmed with emerald and gold. Morgan swung wildly, trying to keep them away from her. Suddenly, her arms were yanked behind her, the clippers wrestled from her grip. She thrashed, trying her best to pull from their clutches. One of them was in front of her now, and he sent his fist directly into her midsection.

Morgan dropped, the air forcibly shoved from her body. Her knees buckled, her weight held up by the soldiers gripping her arms. She gasped, oxygen flooding back into her system. Fingers trailed along her skull, wrapping up in her hair, yanking her head upwards. A long, shiny gray flash of metal was pointed at her, the tip digging into her neck. She thought about earlier, how she had cornered Sayer in the same way, the clippers pressed against the sensitive skin. Now it was her turn. She wondered where the young soldier had gone off to.

The soldier holding the knife eyed her suspiciously, rotating the tip from side to side until it dug into the flesh, causing Morgan to wince.

"Now, this was unexpected," said the soldier. "Where in the world did you come from? Have you been here this whole time, right under our noses? How did you get down here without us noticing?"

He pushed the blade in further, the skin breaking. Morgan whimpered.

The soldier continued to stare at her, almost as if she was a curiosity to be studied. He tilted his head.

"Sergeant Sorbeck, Do you think she's one of the Resistance's spies?" asked another member of the Gale Force. "She was armed and ready to fight. She led Braxton right to her. She was waiting for him."

The sergeant shook his head.

"No, that's impossible. There is no way that the Resistance could have followed us here. Observe how she looks, how she's dressed. She's not from our world. She's from this one."

Morgan couldn't count how many soldiers were around her, but there were many, and they were all staring. She couldn't see Sayer among them. They were all watching her, observing her like she was an animal at the zoo. She struggled against her captors, but that only earned her another dig in the side of her neck.

"The Wizard said his people were weak and fearful. This one doesn't seem to match that description."

The sergeant lowered his knife and stepped closer to her. He continued to look at her as if she was a specimen to be studied. He stepped even closer, his face inches from hers. She could feel his breath on her face, and goosebumps shot up on her arms. He lifted his hand, laying his fingers on her hairline. He gently traced the side of her face, fingertips trailing down her cheek and jaw. He stopped underneath her chin, putting pressure on the area, lifting it up so his eyes met hers. She narrowed her eyes defiantly at him. His face changed, something in his eyes sparking and making her feel incredibly uncomfortable. He then smiled at her, a smile so unnerving and full of desire that it could only portray one intention.

"Well, it seems that girls in this world do claim some beauty."

 _Ewwwwwww._

Morgan, disgusted, reacted without thinking, spitting onto the sergeant's face.

She could hear the others gasping. He reeled back, expression contorted, wiping his face on the back of his sleeve. The smile on his face was still there, this time devilish and evil. He laughed a dark, sinister laugh.

"What should we do with her?" one of them asked.

The sergeant tilted his head, his left hand rolling up his right sleeve.

"Let's keep ahold of her until the Captain returns, and then we'll see what he would like to do with her. But in the meantime—"

The soldier's hand balled into a fist and swung back.

"She needs to know who exactly she's dealing with."

His fist rammed forward, making a sickeningly loud contact with her face, sending Morgan spiraling into darkness.


	7. Chapter 7: She Finds Herself a Prisoner

Chapter 7: She finds herself a prisoner

The first thing Morgan noticed was the light. It was bright, too bright, almost blindingly bright. Her eyes, barely open, were letting in too much of the painful white. She closed them, shutting herself back into blackness. The next thing she noticed were the sounds. They started muffled at first, as if her ears were stuffed with cotton. There were voices, rapid footsteps, sounds floating up and around and mixing in her head. She barely processed the sounds when the pain exploded, wrapping around the side of her face. She let out a hiss, grimacing, the movement of the muscles in her face causing more pain to shoot across her skull. She opened her eyes, pupils dilating with the light, blinking a few times to focus in the scene around her. She felt the side of her face throbbing. It was if someone had driven a hammer into the side of her head. When she finally focused her vision, she could see that she was being watched.

The Gale Force was standing around her, all faces and eyes fixed upon her. A taller man, once she did not recognize, was standing between her and the rest of the soldiers. His arms were crossed, his face a mixture of irritation and intrigue. Morgan tried to move, and then realized that she couldn't. It took her another few seconds to determine what was going on. She was sitting on a chair, her arms yanked behind the chair, bound tightly with what felt like rope. The pain pulsed through her skull again, the image of the sergeant's fist sailing towards her face flashed through her mind. She struggled a bit, pulling against the restraints, but it was no use. She felt her heart begin to race, the anxious energy racing underneath her skin. She turned her head. To the right of her, she saw Sayer standing among his fellow Gale Force. He had an incredibly worried look upon his face, his expression making the fear flutter in her chest. He had warned her that something bad would happen if they caught her, and now she was caught.

Morgan glanced up, her eyes catching the clock on the wall. She noted the time, and laughed to herself.

 _I have half an hour left in my shift, and here I am._

She forced herself to meet the gaze of the man before her. He was very tall, dark eyed, brown hair pulled back into a slick ponytail. He was clean-shaven, the only hair on his face were his dark eyebrows, still furrowed at the sight of her. He tapped his chin with one finger, deep in thought, his eyes burning into her. His stare sent a shiver up her spine.

"So," he finally spoke. Morgan recognized his voice from earlier, when she hid with the buckets. This was the Captain of the Guard.

"So what you are telling me is that this girl here hid from us, evaded capture, somehow snuck down here, armed herself, ambushed and stabbed Corporal Braxton, and injured four other soldiers?"

Morgan was proud of herself for a moment. _Wow, that sounds way cooler than it felt._

"She also spit on me," growled the sergeant.

The Captain sighed. "You probably deserved that one."

The guards laughed, one of them playfully shoving the sergeant. He did not smile. Sayer faked a smile and a laugh, but his eyes betrayed his true emotions. He made eye contact with Morgan, mouthing words to her.

'What were you thinking?'

Morgan replied with a shrug.

 _To be honest, I have no idea._

The Captain, who had been leaning on the bench that Morgan had hid under, shifted his weight forward, standing up straight. He took a step towards Morgan, his eyes never leaving her.

"Some of my men think you are a spy, but I seem to doubt that. You look nothing like a spy."

He tilted his head again, this time the other way.

"Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

Despite the throbbing in her temple, despite the fact that she was bound and surrounded, Morgan felt a spurt of defiance.

"I should be asking you the same thing."

The Captain raised an eyebrow.

"I believe I asked first, and I also believe that you are not really in a position to be asking questions."

Morgan's eyes narrowed. "You're the one who broke into _my_ shop."

"Oh, so this place is yours then?"

"No, not really, I just work here. I was finishing up, and I just wanted to go home, and then you people show up and ruin everything."

"So you've been here this entire time?" the Captain asked, puzzled. "My scout said that this place was abandoned." The Captain's face, along with all of the others, turned towards Sayer. Sayer shrunk down, his face turning red.

"Captain, when I checked the place, I saw no sign of an occupant," said Sayer quickly. "I did multiple rounds of checks. I believed it to be empty."

"Well, private, it seems you've made an error," The Captain's steely gaze could have bore a hole in Sayer. "We now have a situation. We have a witness, one who attacked and injured some of my troops. That is unacceptable."

Sayer looked down, saying nothing.

The Captain returned his focus to Morgan.

"You wear clothing that bears the name of this place," he noted. "Although, it could be a disguise. You were hiding, and you were armed. You did not run away, which makes me believe that you had ulterior motives."

"Seriously?" Morgan spat. "I was hiding because I didn't want you to find me! Do you really think I would have just waltzed down the stairs, announcing myself to you, 'Oh hey random soldier men, it's so nice to meet you! Let's be friends?'."

Morgan saw Sayer moving. Her eyes flickered to the side. Sayer was shaking his head, mouthing the word 'No' over and over. Apparently, her sarcasm would not be appreciated.

The Captain seemed to have ignored her comment.

"You were hiding? Upstairs?" He had been leaning over while talking to Morgan, but now he had shot back up to his straightened posture. He was glaring at Sayer.

"Forsmyth, You were upstairs, yes? And you somehow did not see her?"

Sayer faltered. "I…I wasn't canvassing sir…I was…I was…indisposed."

"Indisposed?"

The sergeant let out a laugh. "Captain, you missed it. After you interrogated the witch, he bolted up to the bathroom. You could hear his yacking from down here."

Morgan didn't think Sayer could turn any redder, but he somehow managed.

"Captain, you know it happens," another soldier piped in. Morgan recognized his voice from upstairs, when he was talking to Sayer in the bathroom. "Interrogations can be nasty if you don't know what to expect. He'll get a handle on it."

"He better," growled the Captain, the tone of his voice causing Sayer to jump. "He had two chances to find this girl, and he failed both of them. We will need to have a conversation later."

"Yes, sir," replied Sayer meekly. Morgan felt bad for him, the kid who was forced to be a soldier and do things against his own moral code. Part of her wished she could help him out, but right now, she couldn't even help herself.

"I do believe that I asked you your name." The Captain was speaking to Morgan again.

"And I do believe that I also asked you yours."

"Fine." The Captain was close to Morgan again, too close for comfort. With her bound to the chair, he towered over her.

"I'm Captain Whitearrow, the head of the Gale Force, the highest military squadron in the Emerald City and all of Oz."

"My name is Morgan, and I think you're full of shit."

"Oh really?" the Captain chuckled. "How is that so?"

"You are telling me that the Emerald City and Oz are real places. They aren't real, they are fiction. They are silly stories meant for children."

The captain nodded to himself. "Ah, I see the Wizard was correct. Your people do not believe in us or our world."

"Well of course," spat Morgan. "You actually expect me to believe that Oz is real and everything that happened there actually happened? You're nuts. You're all nuts."

The soldiers were looking back and forth at each other, muttering amongst themselves.

"Captain, there is no way she could be a spy." Sayer, finding some bravery, had spoken. "Like you said, she is obviously from this world. Our women don't dress like that, nor are they tattooed. She is of no use to us."

The Captain was deep in thought again. He tapped the side of his chin, making no sound. It was a while before he spoke again.

"The Wizard is on his way. He will be able to tell for sure and know what needs to be done. In the meantime, I want to make sure that she's not part of the Resistance."

"The Resistance?" Morgan asked. "Who are they? Who are they even resisting? Are they resisting you? Because if they are, they have my full support."

Sayer had resumed mouthing the word 'No' to Morgan. It seemed like her attitude could not control itself.

"Bring me the witch," said the Captain. "We'll see if they know each other or not."

A few of the soldiers exited the workroom, heading into the front. There was a lot of movement and shuffling, as if there was a struggle. The guards returned a minute later, dragging the prisoner with them. Morgan could not see her face, for they had thrown a linen bag over it. She could hear muffled noises from inside it. They threw the woman on the ground in front of where Morgan was bound. The prisoner wore a black dress, hanging off of her thin frame. A black cloak was clasped around her neck, billowing out around her. Her arms mimicking Morgan's, yanked back and bound behind her. Despite the black material of her dress, Morgan could see that something dark had stained it all over. Morgan felt herself tense up. She was almost positive as to what it was. She had, in fact, heard the screaming herself.

The one of the soldiers walked towards the prisoner, giving her a swift kick in the side. She doubled over, a growl escaping through the blind. The soldier grabbed onto the linen covering her head. The soldiers stared, waiting on bated breath. Morgan felt her heartbeat start to go out of control. The soldier pulled the bag off, and Morgan finally met face to the face with the person she had been trying to rescue.

Morgan couldn't speak. Her mouth was open, but no sound was coming out. She could barely handle the shock that had taken her over. She could not take her eyes off of this woman, trying to process what was happening. The prisoner was young, maybe Morgan's age or a bit older, just as Sayer had said. She had dark brown eyes, which were looking at Morgan with their own form of surprise. She had black hair, almost the same black that Morgan dyed her own, tied back in a bun at the base of her neck, half of it pulled out and flying away due to her head being covered. But that was not what really caught Morgan's attention.

Morgan couldn't get words out for some time.

"That…that is a green person."

The prisoner sighed and rolled her eyes. "How observant. Oh look, you've discovered I am green. Congratulations, your eyes work."

"Wait…"

Morgan was hit with a realization so intense that it felt like she had been punched a second time.

Morgan sat up straighter, her eyes widening. Her thoughts were swirling so fast that she could barely breathe.

"Okay, so, you are all telling me that you're the Gale Force and you are from Oz. And you are here and you know the Wizard…"

Morgan paused for a moment, her eyes flickering from the Captain to the prisoner and back.

"Are you seriously, honestly telling me that this is who I think it is?"

The prisoner had readjusted, now kneeling on the floor. Arms still bound behind her, she bowed dramatically.

"That's right, I'm the Wicked Witch of the West, pleased to make your acquaintance."

Sayer's words ripped through Morgan's brain.

 _""You may not believe it's real, yet you know about Oz and about the goings on in the governorship in Munchkinland. You know more than you think you do. You aren't putting two and two together."_

She had most certainly put two and two together now.

Morgan's wild eyes met the Captain's.

"Are you serious right now? Is this…what is…oh dear god…is this seriously happening right now?"

"Oh, most definitely." The witch's voice was dripping with sarcasm. "This is most certainly happening. See, I'm so incredibly dangerous and evil that these wonderful examples of the male species had to capture me and bring me here, wherever this place happens to be."

The witch turned towards the Captain, a scowl crossing her face.

"It wasn't enough for you to have me, so you had to capture an innocent person as well? And by the looks of the bruise on her face, it seems like you really can't resist hitting a woman. I didn't think you could sink any lower, but you surprised me yet again."

"She's not innocent," stated the Captain frankly. "She was armed. She gravely injured one of my men and wounded four more."

The witch looked at Morgan again, her face changing, the edges of her mouth curling into a smile.

"You took down five members of the Gale Force by yourself?" she asked. "Not bad, not bad at all. You did better than I did."

"Do you know this girl?" the Captain asked the witch.

"Do you think I would tell you if I did?"

"From your reaction and hers, it seems that you do not. We just want to make sure she's not a Resistance spy."

The witch shook her head. "No, I'm afraid you are out of luck. I don't know her. Although, if she can take out that many of your soldiers, I might have to put in a good word for her back at the base."

The Captain huffed. "Then you are not helpful to us now."

A soldier grabbed the witch, dragging her to the side of the room and dumping her against the wall. She didn't fight back; she merely shot daggers at the one who put his hands on her. The rest of the soldiers weren't going to bother with her now. They were still focused on the mysterious girl covered in the blood of their comrade.

"Tell me this." The Captain's tone of voice was strained. He had not got the answer he wanted, and he was starting to lose his patience. "There are only three doors in this building. We were guarding the two down here, but there was one upstairs. I had two of my men guard it for a little while, but they were not there long. If you were here from before the moment we arrived, you would have had ample time to escape. Instead, you hid, got a weapon, snuck down here, and attacked. If you are not connected to the Resistance, then what exactly were you doing?"

Morgan faltered. There was no way she could tell them the truth. Her plan had failed miserably, spectacularly going down in flames. She was now injured, bound, their prisoner. If they knew, she would be dead, or worse.

"I…I had to hide…" Morgan stuttered, the words coming out in pieces. "I…I was afraid…I grabbed the clippers…just in case…I didn't know what to do…"

The Captain stormed over, grabbed a fistful of her hair. He wrenched her head backwards, his face up against hers. She closed her eyes, grimacing at the sensation.

"You're lying!" the Captain roared. "You're lying! You're hiding something! I want to know what you're hiding! Are you really a spy? Did the Resistance send you? Who sent you?"

"Nobody sent her." The witch was sitting up. Morgan could swear that she looked concerned. "She isn't one of us. Leave her alone."

The Captain let go of Morgan's hair. He reached around, the sound of a blade unsheathing reaching Morgan's ears. Before she could form a thought, the blade was in her face.

"Tell me what you were doing or I will cut you from ear to ear!"

Morgan shook violently, the fear completely taking over. Even if she wanted to talk, she couldn't. She felt the tears stinging her eyes. She blinked, a few of them escaping down her cheeks. The blade danced over her cheek, violent thoughts of it ripping her skin tormented her. From the corner of her eye, she could see Sayer, standing behind the rest of the Gale Force, his eyes huge and his hands over his mouth.

"Okay…okay…" Morgan's voice was barely a whisper. "Please…I'll tell you…"

The Captain lowered his knife, stepping backwards and standing up straight again. The knife reentered the leather sheath at his side. He crossed his arms.

"Go on."

Morgan breathed in deeply, trying to steady herself enough. She knew that once she spoke, there was a good chance that she would meet the same punishments as the wicked witch. The fear had fully engulfed her, reducing her to a shivering mess. She took another breath, doing her best to be strong and be brave.

"I…" Morgan took a final inhale. There was nothing else she could do, so she might as well tell the truth.

"I was hiding. I was hiding right at the top of the stairs. You had soldiers at the upstairs door, and I was trapped. I couldn't get out. I grabbed the clippers just in case. It was just instinct, really. I heard you down there. I heard you bringing in the prisoner. I heard everything you said, and everything you did to her."

For a moment, Morgan's eyes met the witch's. The witch's hardened scowl had softened, looking back at Morgan with sadness and concern. Sayer was right. The three of them were just kids really, wrapped up in a war that they weren't meant to fight.

"I saw my chance to run," Morgan continued. "I got all the way to the door…and then I heard screaming. I couldn't do it. I couldn't run away. I had to do something."

"So what then," spat the sergeant, appearing next to the captain. "You heard her screaming and thought you burst in and rescue her?"

"Well…I mean…'burst in' wasn't really what I was going for."

The Captain spoke next. "Your intention was to help Elphaba escape, then?"

Morgan blinked, taking in the name she heard.

 _Elphaba…Nessarose…Captain Tygelaar…of course…two and two together…now I really get it._

Turns out, much to Morgan's surprise, Oz was, in fact, real.

Morgan bit her lip, answering the Captain with a nod of the head. The witch—Elphaba—was now looking at Morgan with an expression of confusion.

"Helping a prisoner escape is considered treason," stated the sergeant.

"Maybe your rules don't apply here," Elphaba interrupted. "We don't know how things go here. We're invading. We are in _her_ world, after all."

The soldier guarding Elphaba struck her in the back of the head. Again, she said nothing and did nothing other than glare.

"Treason is usually grounds for execution, but I assume that the Wizard, being also of your world, would want to meet you himself," said the captain. "You will be staying here until he arrives, and then he can decide whether you live or die."

 _What._

"Until then, you will still need to be punished," he continued. "And I believe I know a fitting punishment for your crime."

Morgan felt a tremor shoot through her body so hard and fast that she spasmed.

 _This cannot be good._


	8. Chapter 8: The Trial of the Chosen

Chapter 8: The trial of the chosen

"Private Forsmyth!"

Morgan fixed her gaze upon the young soldier. She could seem him trying to stand strong and blend in, but his hands trembled.

"Yes sir?"

The Captain beckoned the boy with a twist of his hand.

"Come here."

Sayer stood beside his Captain, his eyes moving quickly back and forth between him and Morgan. He finally got a good look at her from the front, the black and blue stretching around her eye, and clenched his fists.

The Captain put his hand on Sayer's shoulder, patting it, almost father-like.

"I've heard that you are still adjusting to life as a Gale Force soldier," he said. "This isn't the first time a private has learned to deal with things like prisoner interrogation. It's a hard thing to learn, and it's something that you will need to get used to quickly. Honestly, the best way is to jump in head first."

Sayer looked at his Captain, confusion crossing his face.

"What do you mean, sir?"

The Captain slapped him hard on the back, causing him to stumble forward, almost losing his balance. The other soldiers chuckled.

"I've decided that you are going to be in charge of her interrogation."

The blood drained from Sayer's face. He looked at Morgan, his eyes full of panic.

The Captain grabbed Sayer by the arm, dragging him closer to Morgan.

"Now, you need to be careful. If you hit at the wrong angle, you could damage the bones in your hand." The Captain held out his own hand, demonstrating. "Make sure that when you curl into your first that your thumb stays tucked along your fingers. If you let it slip, especially after multiple strikes, you could break it. Trust me, boy, I've done it before and it is incredibly difficult to heal. The best thing is avoidance."

Sayer tried to go along with it. He had his own hand out, mimicking the motions of the Captain. He did his best to play the violence-ready soldier, but his emotions kept giving him away, the trembling from before still remaining.

"Can you even throw a punch like that?" mocked the sergeant. "He's shaking like a leaf!"

"Close it," said the Captain. "He's just nervous, that's all. Your first interrogation is a big deal, or have you forgotten what that was like?"

The sergeant closed his mouth, no comeback to be heard.

"Now," continued the Captain, "the human skull is one of the toughest bones in the body. If you hit it wrong, you can shatter your hand. You need to aim towards the weakest places in the face, the ones that will cause the most pain. Aim for the cheek, the nose, the jaw, and the temple. Although, if you go for the temple or surrounding areas too hard, you will do what Sorbeck did and knock her out with one blow, which defeats the purpose. The purpose, Private, is to cause the most pain while expending the least amount of energy. Punishing them should not punish you as well."

Morgan wondered how she was even breathing. She shook so badly that she could barely stay still. She wriggled her wrists, tugging at her bonds, trying desperately to get them loose.

 _I have to get out of here. I have to get out of here NOW._

She pulled again, this time harder. She rocked forward on the chair, her bonds digging into wrists, friction burning her skin. She then tried rubbing them against the chair, trying to split them. But it was no use.

The Captain and Sayer were watching her. The Entire Gale Force was watching her.

"Look there, Private. She's defying you," the Captain said to Sayer. "She defied you by hiding from you, twice. She attacked our men. Their blood is stained upon her. You need to teach her a lesson. She deserves no pity, for she would do the same to you if given the chance."

Morgan thought back to the bathroom, their conversation, him laughing and shaking her hand. He stared at her, so scared and so sad. He was just as trapped as she was.

The Captain pushed him forward until he was standing within an arms length from her. The Gale Force was whooping and chanting his name, egging him on. He looked down at Morgan, tied roughly to the chair, cheek black and blue, tears staining her face. He did not want to do this. The last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt a prisoner, let alone the girl that he had helped, the girl who could have taken his life but spared it. The Captain crossed his arms, watching. Sayer curled his hand into a fist.

"What are you waiting for?" the Captain asked. "Show her what happens when one hurts a member of our brotherhood."

Sayer raised his fist, his bottom lip quivering. He bit down on it hard, trying to show strength, trying to hide his sorrow from the other men. His eyes locked onto Morgan's.

'I'm sorry' he mouthed to her. 'I'm so sorry.'

'It's okay,' Morgan mouthed back. 'Just do it.'

Sayer still stood frozen, his knuckles turning white in his clenched fist. Morgan knew that no matter what, she was going to have to endure something awful. What she could do, though, was make sure that Sayer wouldn't out himself to the others. They couldn't know the two had met. She put on an expression of bravery and defiance.

"What, is the little boy scared?" Morgan spat. "Get on with it! I don't have all night."

The cheering from the Gale Force turned to jeers. Sayer took a deep breath, now full of resolve with what he had to do. He just hoped that Morgan would forgive him.

He reached backwards and let his fist fly forward, sending it crashing into the side of her face. Her head whipped to the side, the breath stolen from her lungs. A raucous yell exploded from the men, many of them clapping. Morgan coughed, her face throbbing from both this hit and the one before. She tasted metal; her bottom lip had split open. She looked up at Sayer, his own mask of bravery threatening to slip.

"Really, is that it?" Morgan said sardonically. "That was barely a tap. Did you learn to punch from your mother?"

Sayer sucked in his breath with a hiss and sent another fist flying across her face. This time, he made contact with her nose, the sickening sound of a crunch reverberating beneath his knuckles. Morgan let out a gasp of pain, a fierce fire shooting up through her nose and into her forehead. She could feel the blood begin to run from her nose. She tried to breathe, inhaling too sharply, the blood clogging her throat and choking her. She coughed a few times, trying to clear her airway. The tears were back, pooling in the corners of her eyes.

"How was that for you?" Sayer spat. "Was that better?"

He walked over to Morgan, grabbing her by the chin and shoving her head upwards. He leaned in close. Once his expression was mostly hidden from the others, his face fell.

"Morgan, I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I didn't want to. I'm so sorry."

"Sayer, stop. They'll notice," Morgan whispered back. "They can't know we've met, or this will be you."

Morgan forced herself to glare at Sayer. She laughed, a cackle as maniacal as she could make it, and then she spit, the blood running from her nose now splattered across Sayer's face.

"Go," she whispered, almost inaudibly. "Do what you have to do."

Sayer, shaking, covered in blood, stood up. The Gale Force was riled up before, but now even more so after Morgan spit blood on him. They were hurling vile threats, wanting to hurt her themselves. Sayer hit her again, this time with his opposite hand, added a bruise to the other side of her face. She hung her head, blood running down her chin, the edges of her vision turning black and purple.

The Captain tapped his fingers across his arm, his smile taking over the bottom half of his face. The man stood up, walking over to his new prisoner. He undid the binding around her wrists and then locked onto her arms in a vice grip. Morgan thought about trying to run, but the pain in her head was so bad that it messed with her ability to think. The Captain pulled the chair from under her and kicked the backs of her knees, sending her falling to the ground. He redid the ropes so quickly that by the time she realized she was free, she was bound again. She tried to sit up, the blows to her head disorienting her, making it hard for her to balance. Elphaba was watching her, looking even more sad than before.

"There," said the Captain, returning to his previous spot. "Now that you no longer have the chair in the way, your options are more open. You can continue to go by hand, or you can use any of the weapons you possess. Just remember not to do anything bad enough that will eventually kill her. The Wizard needs to meet her. Though, who knows, maybe you'll get the chance to do that later!"

Sayer was standing over her, unsure of what to do. Morgan hung her head, the colors at the edges of her vision ready to take over. She gathered as much strength as she could to look up at him. He looked like someone had broken him along with her. She opened her mouth, ready to throw out another spit of defiance, but the breath caught in her lungs. She forced it out, hacking up the blood that had ran down her throat instead of out. She spit blood onto the ground, the effort of coughing making her more dizzy.

She was thrown off guard when the boot made contact with her ribs. She groaned, the pain she was feeling now audible, a horrid ache swimming across her side. The second one was higher, shooting the agony up as far as her shoulder. The third sent the pain from dull to sharp, like a knife jabbing between the bones protecting her lungs. The attack continued, the boot ricocheting off of her body over and over. She couldn't help but cry out, causing the soldiers to cheer even louder. The sheer force had sent her tumbling to the ground. She now lay on her side, blood running to the floor, the pain digging into her face and pressing on her lungs. She tried to get up but she failed, falling back onto the ground. Her head rested on the cold tile, the tears mixing with the blood, creating small rivers that ran away from her.

"That's enough."

Sayer's voice cut through the cacophony of the soldiers. The sound stopped.

"She's had enough," said Sayer, his voice deeper and more powerful than Morgan had ever heard it. "She's losing consciousness, which means she's useless to us. If you don't mind, Captain, I'd like to resume my interrogation at a later time."

The Captain was grinning, pleased with his youngest soldier.

"See, I knew you would come around. Everyone does. Once you get a taste of it, it becomes natural. One day, you'll even find it fun."

The Captain surveyed the rest of his troops.

"Alright boys, play time is over. Take the witch and throw her into the cooler. That should keep her from causing us more trouble. Once you get her situated, throw the other one in with her. She won't be bothering us anymore."

The soldiers grabbed Elphaba, yanking her to her feet and dragging her across the floor. Morgan could hear the sounds, but could barely see what was going on. The black and purple were starting to crowd her vision, calling her to the sweet darkness. She wanted to, she really wanted to, but the piercing, stabbing pain in her ribcage kept reeling her back to reality. She still could hardly believe this was happening. Two hours ago, she was sitting by the computer, bantering with Jesse, praying the phone would stay quiet long enough for her to get in another chapter of her book. Now she was here, on the ground, in more pain than she had ever felt in her entire life, beaten by someone she trusted, a prisoner to a cruel, heartless army. She felt hands on her, pulling her off the ground roughly. One of them dug into her ribs, a sound resembling a shriek coming out of her. Uncaring, they drug her, her body not being able to find her feet on the ground. She heard the familiar clang of the cooler door opening, and was then hit with a blast of freezing cold air. They tossed her in, her body slamming on the ice-cold ground with a thud. The door crashed behind her, trapping her inside, the place that held the flowers now a tomb.


	9. Chapter 9: She faces her failure

Chapter 9: She faces her failure

Morgan was surprised to feel a hand upon her shoulder. She recoiled, eyes flinging open.

"It's okay, it's just me."

A female voice, kind and gentle, entered her ear. She glanced up to see Elphaba leaning over her, somehow having freed herself from the ropes around her wrists. Morgan closed her eyes again, a soft moan escaping from her lips.

"Here, let me help you," said Elphaba. "It'll be easier for you to breathe if you sit up."

Morgan felt arms around her. The witch wrapped around her gingerly, careful to avoid her ribcage. She helped her up, settling her into a sitting position. The black and purple appeared again, causing Morgan to wobble. Elphaba had both hands on her shoulders, steadying her.

"There, that should be better. Try to keep your head upright. That way, you won't keep choking on your own blood. Hopefully, it'll stop bleeding soon."

The door flew open, causing both girls to jump. It clanged closed in an instant, with Sayer now standing in front of them. His mask finally evaporated, and his face became overwhelmed in sorrow.

"Oh Oz, what have I done?"

Sayer kneeled on the floor next to Morgan, unable to look away from her. He reached down to his waist, removing the knife from his belt. Elphaba's face hardened, looking like she was ready to fight him, when he reached around Morgan and cut the bindings on her wrists. She stretched out her arms, wiggling her fingers, the feeling finally coming back to them. Sayer produced a cloth from his back pocket.

"This is my fault. This is all my fault. "

Sayer held out his hand, and carefully started wiping the blood from Morgan's face. He worked slowly, barely touching her, trying not to aggravate the bruises underneath, the bruises that were caused by his fists. Elphaba stared at him, confused as to why a Gale Force soldier would be helping the prisoner he just beat. She watched quietly as Sayer cleaned off the blood from under Morgan's nose and neck. When he was done, he rolled the cloth into a ball and shoved it back into his pocket.

"Oz, Morgan, I'm so sorry. I didn't want to. I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I didn't have a choice. If I would have refused, someone else would have done it, and who knows what they would have done to you. I didn't…" Sayer's voice caught in his throat. "I didn't want to. Please believe me that I didn't want to."

"Sayer, of course you didn't," said Morgan. "I knew what was happening."

"You know his first name?" Elphaba cut in. "Have you met?"

"Look," continued Morgan, "if you would have backed off, shown me any mercy, they would have noticed something was off. If they would've found out that we've talked and you let me go, then we both would have been punished."

"Oh, so you have met," said Elphaba. "I was wondering what was going on. Something seemed off about the way he reacted to you."

"She found me upstairs," said Sayer. "She locked me in the bathroom and tried to stab me."

"I did not," snorted Morgan. "I only _threatened_ to stab you."

"You held that thing at my throat for a very long time."

"Only until you talked, then we were fine."

Elphaba raised an eyebrow. "So you were baiting him then, back there?"

Morgan nodded, and instantly regretted it, the motion sending more bolts of pain through her head. She crammed her eyes shut and hissed. She felt a hand wrap around hers.

"She did," Sayer answered for her. "She pretended so that it could be more convincing. She did it to help me, and honestly, I don't know why."

"Well, now that you had mentioned that if you refused, I would have got passed off to another soldier…I'm glad I did it."

"Look, I don't have much time," said Sayer, dropping his voice. "We don't know when the Wizard will get here. You're probably going to be stuck until he shows up, unless the soldiers get bored. I'll do my best to keep an eye on you two and make sure that doesn't happen. When the Wizard shows up…I don't know. I have no idea. Honestly, I don't even want to think about it. I'll do my best, okay?"

Morgan realized that it was Sayer who was holding her hand.

"Okay."

He squeezed it, and quickly left, slamming the door behind him. Elphaba was at her side again.

"Let me take a look at you," she said, a green hand now holding the back of Morgan's head. The witch was in front of her, examining her face. She bit her lip for a moment, pondering.

"There's a lot of swelling here. Has your nose always been a bit crooked?"

"Not that I've noticed."

"Then it's definitely broken," said the Witch. "Can you breathe out of it?"

Morgan inhaled through her nose and winced. "I can, but it hurts. Then again, it hurts everywhere when I breathe."

"Sadly, that's something you're going to have to deal with. If you can get air in and out, then that's the best case scenario."

"Great."

"I need to check your side," stated Elphaba. "I need to see the damage there. If it hurts you to inhale, you might have a broken rib."

Elphaba moved quickly, pulling up Morgan's shirt. She jerked back.

"What are you doing?"

"Assessing your injuries, like I said."

"How do you know what you're looking at?"

"I worked with the Resistance for years," the witch replied. "I've treated a lot of injuries, both on myself and others. I've seen many a broken bone in my time. You just have to trust me."

Morgan sighed, then agreed. "Fine."

Elphaba pulled up the side of her shirt, leaning in close to inspect the area. The skin was scraped off in a few places along her side and back, bruises turning the areas around them black and blue and green. Elphaba raised her hand, and lightly touched the area. Morgan hissed and recoiled at her touch.

"Can you not do that?"

Elphaba sat up, pulling Morgan's shirt back down. Her brow was furrowed.

"You definitely have a bruised rib, although, from my experience, it's probably a fracture. It might even be more than one, I'm not positive. All I know is that this is going to hurt for at least a month."

"Oh great, I have a broken face and a broken rib. That's just fantastic."

Elphaba leaned back, her legs folded under her.

"Your name is Morgan. Did I hear that correctly?"

"Mhmm."

"I have to ask you something," she said. "What you said out there…about how you heard what they did to me and it made you want to help…was that true?"

"Yes. All of it."

Elphaba chewed her bottom lip again. "You mean to tell me that you didn't know who I was and didn't know what I looked like, but you decided to risk your life to rescue me?"

"Again, yes."

"But…" Elphaba paused, the sadness returning to her eyes. "Why?"

"I believe I already told everyone that," said Morgan. "Or don't you believe me?"

"It's not that," replied the witch. "It's just…I'm not used to kindness of any sort, let alone the life-saving kind."

"Well, it was a nice thought and all, but it didn't do either of us any good." Morgan shivered, the cold sinking into her skin. They kept the cooler at 36 degrees, which perfectly maintained the cut flowers that now surrounded the two girls. However, it was not exactly a comfortable temperature for people.

"I'm sorry that this happened to you," said Elphaba. "Trust me when I tell you that I know exactly how you feel."

"God, it feels like someone is still hitting me. It hurts like hell."

"Can you see straight? Is your vision blurry or turning colors?"

"It was for a little while, but it's gone now. I guess I don't get the luxury of passing out."

Elphaba let out what sounded like a small laugh.

"That's good, then. Consciousness is a good thing."

Morgan now felt the cold deep in her bones. She curled up into a ball, flinching at the ache in her side, wrapping her arms around her knees. She shivered, the short sleeved tee shirt she wore not very helpful in the chill.

Elphaba noticed the girl's shivering. She quickly undid the clasp at the base of her throat, removing the cloak from her neck.

"Here," she said, draping the cloak around Morgan's shoulders. "You're freezing."

"But what about you? I don't want you to freeze helping me."

"I spent years sleeping on the ground," said Elphaba. "I think I can handle it. Plus, I actually have sleeves and you don't."

Morgan wrapped the cloak around her, covering any bits of exposed skin. She still shivered, but the chill was less abrasive.

"I'm surprised they let you keep the cloak."

"They were going to throw it out, but thought it was more fun to choke me with it."

"That…that is messed up. What assholes."

Elphaba still had not broken eye contact with her. She was watching Morgan, studying her.

"What are you even looking at?"

"I just…" Elphaba laid both hands on her lap. "I'm just trying to figure you out."

"There's not much to figure out."

"You told them that you could have escaped, but after heard them beating me, you decided to stay. You took a Gale Force soldier hostage so you could get information out of him, just so you could more easily rescue me."

"Again, it didn't do us much good."

"But you still did it. You still risked your life for a stranger."

"Is that something so hard to understand?"

Elphaba laughed again. "For most people, it is. The majority of people would rather watch a stranger suffer than do anything about it, even without risk. There aren't many who would put their lives on the line for anyone, especially those they do not know."

"But you're one of those people, aren't you?" asked Morgan. "You've spent years rescuing others, risking your life to help people."

"Someone had to. Someone had to stand up to the Wizard and his followers. Nobody else would, so I did, and they branded me a monster for it. Not that they didn't already think of me as a monster before then."

"These men are the real monsters," said Morgan. "God, the things they said, the things they say they want to do to you…" Morgan shuddered at the thought. "That's just beyond awful."

"Yes, I've heard it all," said Elphaba. "They've threatened me with every form of bodily harm they can think of."

"Why do they hate you so much?" asked Morgan. "Do they really see you as that big of a threat? I mean, they literally took you to another world just to deal with you."

Elphaba sighed, her eye contact finally breaking. Her grasped her hands together on her lap, tapping her fingers together.

"They hate me for aiding the Resistance and helping the Animals, but some of it is my own fault. I've been causing problems since I was born. I've always tried to help people, to do good, but I fail. My road of good intentions has only led to destruction." She took a deep breath. "They don't lie when they call me wicked."

"I doubt that. If you have dedicated the last few years of your life to resisting the Wizard, then I can't see you being wicked at all. That sounds more like big-heartedness, kindness, heroism over wickedness."

Elphaba laughed sardonically. "Me? Heroic? You obviously don't know me."

"I know enough. The Wizard told the Gale Force to avoid us because we wouldn't believe, because your world is fantasy to us. But if it's anything like the stories we know, then you do so much more good than you think."

Elphaba looked at her like she almost believed her. "Really?"

Morgan nodded. "Really."

Elphaba paused, her eyes locked on a space on the floor. Even in the not-so-great light of the cooler, Morgan could see that her cheeks had turned an even darker shade of green. It was as if the idea of her actually being good embarrassed her a bit. Elphaba cleared her throat, the color fading from her face.

"Anyways, I want to know more about you. I know nothing of this world or the people in it, aside from the Wizard, whom I doubt is a good example."

"Oh, you mean a person who is manipulative, arrogant, obsessed with power, but actually completely useless? Nope, that's pretty stinking accurate."

"Your people sound as bad as mine."

"They most certainly are. No matter where you go, people suck."

"I still want to know more about you, especially since you're trying to save me."

"There really isn't much to know," replied Morgan. "I'm Morgan. I'm 22. I work here so I have enough money to pay rent and eat food and occasionally do other things. My coworkers say I'm a true Cancer: I'm overly sensitive, cold, closed-off, and don't really like leaving the house. It's sounds crazy, but me doing everything I did today is very unlike me. I'm not usually a risk taker."

Elphaba chuckled. "Well, apparently you are. Did you really ambush that young soldier and hold him hostage in the bathroom?"

"…maybe."

"Well, I'm glad you didn't imbed that weapon into him. I rather like him. He's the only guard that's actually treated me like I was more than an animal. He had actually been sneaking me extra food, since his comrades believed that starving me would make me easier to deal with."

"Really?" said Morgan. "I can't see him as the rule-breaking type at all."

"Anytime the others would threaten me or beat me, he always looked sad, like he wanted to apologize," said the witch. "You know, after he came back down the stairs, they made him stand guard over me. He cleaned the blood off of my face, just like he did for you. He has a good heart. It's a shame he's part of that mess."

Morgan was astounded. Sayer was much braver than she had previously thought.

"You know, it's kind of funny that we're agreeing about his kind heart when he just beat the living shit out of me."

"Sometimes, Morgan, we have to make choices we don't want to in order to avoid making things worse. I've been there, and it's not fun. It leaves you with a lot of guilt."

"I'm not angry with him. I mean, I'm not thrilled about the situation, but I get it. He said the other men would have done much worse." The pain flooded Morgan's body every time she spoke, every time she took a breath. At the moment, she couldn't really imagine much worse.

"They probably would have," stated Elphaba. "The only reason I'm even in one piece is because the Captain willed it. He would've let Sayer beat you for hours if he had wanted to. Any other soldier would have destroyed you."

Morgan shivered at the thought.

"Yeah, no thanks. I know they can do worse. I mean, I heard—" Morgan paused for a moment. "I…I heard you screaming. That's what actually made me finally decide not to run. I…I can't imagine what they were doing…" Morgan shivered again. "I don't think I want to know."

Elphaba's expression changed. She rolled down the sleeve of her left arm, exposing the skin. Morgan was stunned to see dark marks covering her entire forearm, marring the emerald with red and purple. Morgan's eyes grew so wide that she felt like they were going to pop out of her head.

"Jesus Christ, what in the hell did they do?"

"The Gale Force learned a fun fact recently. Turns out, if you hold your knife over a flame for a while, the metal becomes blazing hot and stays that way for a while. They were very excited to see how it reacted against skin, particularly my green skin."

Morgan thought she was going to vomit. She almost dry heaved, but somehow held it back.

"Oh dear lord in heaven." Morgan felt a mixture of nausea and rage. "They really are monsters. I guess I shouldn't be complaining about my busted nose and broken rib"

As if reacting to her talking about it, a blast of pain flew through Morgan's rib cage, aggravated by her shivering from the cold. She caught the sound of pain before it came out, only a high-pitched squeak exiting. Elphaba rolled up her sleeve.

"Pain is pain, suffering is suffering. One is not more than the other."

"Yeah, but-"

"Hush. I'll be fine. This isn't the first time I've been injured, nor will it be the last. You have more than enough to deal with. Blood dries and skin heals, but we can't really set the breaks in your bones, so you'll be in pain for a long time."

"You know, you aren't exactly comforting me at the moment."

"I'm not known for falsity."

Morgan sighed, the stabbing in her side and face ebbing and flowing, occasionally shooting a bolt through her to remind her that they were there.

"Tell me this, then. Is there any chance of us getting out of this situation?"

Elphaba said nothing for a few breaths.

"Well, if the Wizard deems you not a threat, you'll be let go. Me, well, I'll probably never be free."

Morgan suddenly had a thought. "Wait…aren't you supposed to have magic? Why can't you use it? Can't you magic us out of here?"

Elphaba shook her head. "It doesn't work like that. It's very hard to control, and I just barely have a grasp on it. Plus, according to the Wizard, there is no magic in your world, so even if I could control it, it wouldn't work."

"Are you sure it won't work? Have you tried?"

"I've tried a little bit. However, the Gale Force been keeping me at a weakened state, so it's been very difficult."

"Elphaba, do you know what the Wizard is going to do with you now that you are here?" Morgan asked, not sure if she really wanted to know the answer.

"I…" Morgan saw an emotion on Elphaba's face that she hadn't seen before: fear. "I…I don't know. I mean, he could have me executed, which makes the most sense. But he really went through the trouble of coming here…honestly, I don't have a clue. I've been trying not to think about it."

Morgan felt bad for bringing it up. "I'm sorry I asked. Now I'm really mad that I got caught. I could have got both of us out of here."

"And then what, though?" asked the witch. "After we got out of this building, where would we go? The Gale Force would be on our trail in a heartbeat. They would hunt me down until the ends of the world."

"Well, lucky for you, they don't know my world like I do."

Both girls stopped. Sound was flooding into the cooler from outside. They saw flashes of faces shoot past the window, the Gale Force in a flurry of movement. It sounded like they were shouting. Elphaba was suddenly in front of Morgan, almost overtop of her, positioning herself between the injured girl and the door. It was as if she was trying to protect her.

"Someone has arrived," stated Elphaba. "And I don't think that's good news for us."


	10. Chapter 10: Another unexpected guest

Chapter 10: Another unexpected guest

Someone, in fact, had arrived, but it was not whom anyone expected.

The sounds outside the door had partially subsided. The humming of the refrigeration unit inside the cooler buzzed loudly, muffling most of the noises. The girls could hear the clamor of a few soldiers, the Captain's growl, and another voice, possibly male but it was hard to tell, shouting loudly overtop of the others. It sounded as if there was a confrontation. Morgan had readjusted, shifting her weight onto her feet in an attempt to stand and peak through the small pane of glass in the cooler door, but she faltered, a blast of pain from her ribs returning her to the floor. Elphaba reached out an arm, blocking her.

"No, don't do that," said the green girl. "Stay low."

The girls could hear shuffling, the sounds of something being pulled across the floor. There was more shouting, the fierce shriek of a sword becoming unsheathed, and then sudden silence. The footsteps returned, moving closer towards the door. There was a tap of skin on metal, the handle of the cooler turning towards, opening with a click. Elphaba tensed, still positioned between Morgan and the door, coiled as if ready to strike whoever dared enter. Morgan shivered, both from the cold and from apprehension.

The door swung open, and the body of a male was tossed onto the damp floor.

"We'll let the Wizard handle you as well," spat the familiar voice of the sergeant, glaring at the body and at the girls before slamming the door behind him.

The blonde man sat up, rubbing his head. His gray eyes bulged out of his head when he spotted Morgan.

"MORGAN?!

Morgan had the same bewildered expression on her voice. This was not who she expected to see at all. She had seen him just hours ago, when he waved goodbye and almost skipped out of the shop door.

"Jesse?" Morgan's jaw dropped, her head tilted in confusion. "What are you doing here? I thought you went home!"

"I did! I got my groceries, went home, and then I realized I forgot to get dog food, so I went back. I stopped at Taco Bell and was driving back when I saw that the light was still on even thought it was after seven, and I know you never, ever stay past seven. I parked the car, and when I saw a bunch of dudes in here and no sign of you, I had to come check it out and they freaking attacked me and…"

Jesse's sentence trailed off, the man finally taking in the marks that covered his younger coworker's face.

"Jesus Christ, Morgan, what happened to you? Did…did they do that?"

Morgan almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. She had no idea how to explain anything that happened in the past two hours.

"The answer is yes, but it's a long story."

"So who's this?"

Somehow, Jesse had not noticed the green-skinned witch sitting on the floor of the cooler not far from Morgan. Even though it seemed impossible, his eyes grew even wider, his mouth agape, one hand coming over his face.

"Holy shit, you're green."

Elphaba exhaled sharply, punctuating it with a swift eye roll. "Are all people in your world this easily stunned?"

"Well, Elphaba, if you could believe it, verdigris is even less of a common sight here than it is in Oz."

"OZ? Elphaba? What? Seriously, OZ? What in the actual hell is happening here? Who are these people? Why are we all in the cooler? " Jesse was so bewildered that his words came out in spurts, his face fully consumed by the shock of it all.

Morgan held out her arm, gesturing towards Elphaba.

"Elphaba, this is Jesse. He's one of my coworkers. Jesse, this is Elphaba, the infamous Wicked Witch of the West."

Jesse tentatively raised one shaky hand, flicking it side to side in an awkward wave.

"Hey."

Elphaba merely nodded, an amused smile on her lips.

"Are you just going to stare at me all night?" she asked the blond man. "Don't worry, if you look away, the green will still be here."

"So Jesse," Morgan ignored Elphaba's snarky comment, "what happened when you came in?"

Jesse snapped out of his trance, his face turned towards Morgan.

"Like I said, I saw that the lights were still on and there were people in the shop. I got out of the car and put my key in the lock, but the door was still unlocked. Now that I think about it, I should have called the cops or tried to be more inconspicuous, but let's be real, nobody expects a flower shop to be full of armed military. I just walked right in, and was then swarmed. Some guy with a ponytail was asking me a bunch of shit, but I don't remember. And now I'm here, and I have so. many. questions."

Morgan winced, a too-deep breath triggering the ache on her side. She wrapped her arms around herself, both to help with the pain and with the cold. Jesse noticed the expression of concern on Elphaba's face, and decided to cut down his questions to just one. He reached over, gently placing on hand on her knee.

"Morgan, what happened to you? What happened?"

Morgan took a deep breath, and then let the story flow out of her. She told Jesse everything; her hearing dinging of the doorbell when she was upstairs, her hiding, her hearing Elphaba being beaten, her decision to do something, her questioning of Sayer, her failed plan, her own savage beating. Elphaba chimed in occasionally, adding details and her own point of view of the events. Jesse said nothing during her story, but his facial expression changed constantly, portraying every emotion from sadness to anger or horror. When Morgan finished, the three stayed silent, the only noise being the humming of the unit above their heads.

"Two hours," Jesse broke the silence, speaking softly. "I was gone for two hours. All of this happened when I was freaking grocery shopping."

"I know," replied Morgan. "It's insane when you think about it. All of this is insane."

"I can't believe Oz is real," he continued. "Oz is real, the Wicked Witch is real, it's all real. And you…you stabbed a guy… you actually stabbed a guy with floral shears."

"I did tell you that I've always wanted to do that."

"Yeah, but…I never thought we'd see the day where we would have to do it. You stabbed a Gale Force soldier. A soldier from Oz. Which is real….this is all really confusing…"

"Trust me, I've already gone through this entire thought process multiple times over."

Jesse tapped his fingers on his lap, having a hard time sitting still.

"What made you finally believe?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe seeing a green person in front of me and then getting punched in the face?"

"Yep. That would do it."

"Did they say anything of importance to you?" Elphaba asked Jesse. "Did they mention anything about the Wizard?"

Jesse shrugged. "I kind of freaked out, honestly. A lot of what they said is a blur. But I do know the ponytail man said that they wanted to keep me here until the Wizard showed up. I don't know why, though."

"For future reference," stated Morgan. "Ponytail man is the Captain. He's in charge."

"Ponytail man is in charge?"

"You got it."

Jesse suddenly stopped moving, a look of horror on his face. He looked down at his feet, the white border of his sneakers stained with red.

"Oh sweet Jesus," he whispered, voice shaking. "I just realized that I stepped in your blood. Your blood is on my shoe."

Morgan snorted. "Maybe now you'll actually clean them." Elphaba appreciated the snark, stifling a laugh of her own.

"You two are ridiculous, you know that?"

Morgan and Jesse shared a look. "We've heard that before."

"Look, this little reunion is nice and all," Elphaba interrupted, "but it doesn't exactly help our predicament. Now we have one more person imprisoned by the Gale Force. It's going to be that much harder to get you two out of here."

"Oh no, not a 'you two'," said Morgan. "I'm getting you out as well. I'm not leaving you here with them, absolutely freaking not. Plan A may have not worked out the way I wanted it two, but there always is a Plan B."

"And, what, pray tell, is Plan B?"

"Well…"

The door flung open. Sayer was suddenly inside the cooler again.

"We have a problem!" the young soldier said, wide-eyed. "The other battalion is on their way here. The Wizard is with them!"

Jess tilted his head. "This is Sayer, right? The kid that beat the shit out of you?"

"Is that what you told him?"

"I mean, you did beat the shit out of me."

"Yeah, but…." Sayer stopped midsentence. "Oh nevermind, that doesn't matter. What matters is that the Wizard is on his way, and once he gets here, he is going to want to meet with you. I don't know what he'll want with you, Morgan, but I highly doubt he'll just have a chat and let you go home."

Morgan felt something squeezing her hand. She looked down, seeing green fingers wrapping overtop of her own. Elphaba had a very stern expression on her face, her eyes sparking with defiance.

"He won't do anything to her," the witch spat. "I'll make sure of that."

"I'm sorry, Miss Elphaba, I don't mean to doubt you," replied Sayer, "but unless we can get you out, there's not much you can do."

Jesse gave a very befuddled look to everyone in the cooler with him.

"Why haven't you just walked out?" he asked.

"That's obviously easier said than done," replied the witch sardonically, "or do you think that the Gale Force is that lenient?"

"No, seriously, why haven't you just walked out?" He turned to Morgan. "You do remember that the cooler door doesn't lock, right?"

Morgan could feel the three sets of eyes boring into her. She shrunk down, feeling the blood rise into her face. In that moment, she felt very, very stupid.

"Oh…." Morgan remembered now. "Right…there's no lock on it so that nobody gets stuck in here and freezes….right."

She felt a sting shoot across her left arm. Elphaba was glaring at her, eyes still blazing. The green girl had slapped her.

"You mean we haven't been locked in here at all and you knew?"

"I may have known that….but…" Morgan glanced up, a small sheepish smile on her face, her voice rising about an octave,"…with all the crazy going on…and everything hurting so bad…I just... didn't think."

"Well then," Jesse jumped off, brushing a few stray petals off of himself. "Let's get the hell out of here."

Sayer stepped back, blocking the door.

"No, bad idea. If you go out, they'll just throw you back in. No offense, but they'll take you down in a few seconds."

Jesse crossed his arms over his chest and glared.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Jesse, he's right," said Elphaba. She pointed towards Morgan, gesturing to the injuries on her face. "This is what happens when you try to fight them. You end up with a bruised face, a broken nose, and a cracked rib or two. She's lucky she got out with just those. I wouldn't risk it."

"So we just sit here then and wait?"

"For now."

Jesse audibly groaned. "This is what I get for checking on you, Morgan. This is what I get for caring about your safety?"

"Oh, you mean something unpleasant happened to you when you cared about someone else's safety?" Morgan's words were both sardonic and scathing. "Huh…you know, I have no idea what that's like."

"PRIVATE FORSMYTH!"

Sayer jumped, recoiling at the sound of his own naming booming over top the buzzing metal.

"Get going! We find formation in order to greet the Wizard!"

Sayer gave Morgan a very worried look, his eyes not leaving her face for some time. His expression triggered the fear in Morgan, fright now adding to the trembling that had already taken over her body. She swallowed hard, wishing the young soldier's eyes weren't so sad.

"Morgan, I'll do my best. I'll do my best to keep you safe, to keep you all safe." Sayer gripped the door handle, desperately not wanting to open it and leave. He had turned away from her to attempt to leave, but his eyes were back, staring at her as if it was the last time he would see her.

"If I…if I don't get to see you…after…" Sayer gulped. "….just know…just know that I'm sorry, I'm sorry for everything. I really am."

"Sayer-" The boy had removed himself from the room before Morgan could finish her thought. His words terrified her, his speaking of not seeing her again triggering morbid scenarios in her brain. Images flashed through her mind, drowning her in memories of fists and blood and pain. She was lost in the horrid fantasies, suffocating on the idea of suffering and possible death, until she felt someone shaking her. For the second time, a green face welcomed her back to the reality of the freezing room.

"Morgan, it's going to be okay." Elphaba's voice was soft and gentle, reassuring. A green hand caressed Morgan's face, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. "Don't cry, please. We're going to get you out, I promise."

Morgan didn't even realize she was crying. Jesse looked like he was going to cry as well, seeing and reacting to his young coworker. Morgan was completely overwhelmed. She was captured, freezing, in pain, and now terrified of what was going to happen to her once the Wizard arrived. She tried not to think about what the Wizard would do with her, and what he would do to make her act as he pleased. She tried not to think about what would happen if the Wizard decided he didn't need her, instead throwing her into the rabid mouths of the Gale Force. The threats they made to Elphaba wiggled themselves back into her ears, sending another set of tears dripping down her face. Morgan pulled her knees as far into her chest as she could, despite the fierce pain it created, and buried her head, not wanting them to see her falter.

Morgan felt the arms around her, holding onto tightly, the whisper touch of fingers running up and down her arm. She could feel a hard pressure on her head, the sensation of another head leaning onto her own.

"It's okay, you're okay," the witch's soothing voice returned. "You're allowed to be afraid. Just know that I'm here, and I will do whatever I can to keep you safe. You tried your best to help me, and I will now return the favor. It's okay, I have you now."

Morgan could hear footsteps in the room, the tapping echoing slightly in the small space. Jesse was up, pacing frantically muttering to himself. She could hear the boxes and buckets on the shelves sliding back and forth, the man shuffling them around. Jesse grumbled, looking for something.

"I know I left it here this morning…I couldn't find it in my damn drawer and this was the last place I had it before I left…Ah ha!"

A spark of excitement entered Jesse's voice.

"I knew it! I knew my forgetfulness would be an asset one day!"

Morgan lifted her head, blinking a few times to focus back with the light. Jesse was standing up, his right hand raised up, a long, silver knife casting a shadow onto the floor from the bright ceiling light. Jesse laughed gleefully, flipping the blade around in his hands.

"I couldn't get the freaking box of greens open so I went back and had to get my knife, and I must have sat it down and left without it. On a normal day, I'd be super pissed, but not now!"

"I had a weapon, too, you know," said Morgan solemnly. "It only got me so far."

"Yes, but it's better than being unarmed," replied Elphaba, releasing the girl from her embrace. "We stand a better chance with it, even if it's just a fraction of an advantage."

The normal sounds of boots and chattering outside the cooler had stopped. Only the humming of the system could be heard.

Morgan swallowed hard. She knew what the silence meant.

The Wizard had arrived.


End file.
